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samcscreams · 7 months

Text

It can't be a coincidence

Hello friends! This one shot was inspired by @doctorwhoarchive it would not have been possible without her! Also took an inspiration form this post. Im also super proud of this one. Its my biggest project yet and I put a lot of time and effort into it so I hope you like it!

Also a shout out to @monarchsrus for all the writing advice!

Trigger warning: Drug Use

Word count: 7.5k

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It was like any other day. Sam rolled over to turn her alarm clock off. It had been about 9 months since she’d been able to actually wake up to the sounds. No, most days she wakes hours before her alarm clock goes off and just stars at the ceiling waiting for time to pass her by.

After turning it off she rolls over and sit on the edge of her bed. After taking a much needed deep breath she begins to get ready for school.

She shuffled over to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and makes her way to her sisters room.

“Knock Knock. You up yet Tar?” She asked as she slowly opened the door.

Her baby sister was still curled up under her covers. Sam sighed knowing she was gonna have to be responsible and wake her up. She just looked so peaceful while sleeping, it broke her heart to be the one to ruin it.

“Hey time to wake up big girl.” Sam rubbed circles in Taras back to coxes her out of sleep.

As Tara started to stir awake she smiled at the sight of her big sister.

“Morning Sammy” She said with a toothy grin as she rubbed sleep from her eyes

“Im gonna use the bathroom. Make sure you pick out some clothes and pack your book bag” Sam said as she left.

Tara felt the emptiness of the room eat her alive. Sam would normally help her pick out her clothes and at least say good morning in return. But lately Sam just wasn’t the same. Tara sat up in bed wondering if she did something wrong.

After Sam was done in the bathroom she was putting her clothes on when she noticed her jeans were now officially two inches higher than when she got them.

“Dammit” She muttered to herself. Sadly, she had gone through a growth spurt only a month after she found the diaries.

Therefore Christina has been less than eager to go shopping with her daughters. Christina also thought since Tara never seemed to grow and could still fit into some of her preschool shirts the other one should be just as fine.

She was not fine, far from fine but she would never tell anyone that. So when Sam went to put on the t-shirt she pulled from her closet she flexed just a bit too hard casing the back seem to pop. She looked over into the mirror and almost chuckle as she looked like the hulk ripping out of her own clothes.

She needed a plan and fast as she would need to head down stairs to make tara breakfast soon. Then it hit her, her dad not dad left his clothes. He’s gotta have something she could take.

Sam snuck into her mothers room and over to her dads not dad closet. Upon entering she took a deep breath taking in the lingering smell that used to smell like safety, like home. She looked up towards the top shelf. There were a random assortment of old band shirts so she grabbed the top one. ‘Nirvana, perfect’ she thought to herself and snuck back out not waking her mother in doing so.

She grabbed her combat boots, as they were the only shoes that fit her, and luckily they made up for the two inches that her pants didn’t cover on her legs. She then grabbed her zip up hoodie and made her way down stair after seeing tara was no longer in her room.

“Tara?” Sam called as she hit the bottom floor.

“In here Sammy” Tara called back from the kitchen

Once Sam made her way to her sister she was greeted with burnt toast and half squeezed OJ.

“Tara what are you doing?” Sam asked trying to bite back her temper which was becoming alarming harder to do recently.

“I wanted to make you breakfast. To make up for making you mad.” Tara with her big doe eyes stared directly into her big sisters looking for any sign of reassurance that she was forgiven.

“Making me mad? Baby girl what do you mean?” Sam pulled her baby sister in for a hug pushing Taras bangs away to get a clear look at her. Yet Sam could feel the guilt bubbling in her gut.

“You don’t help me get ready for school anymore. I though I did something wrong.” Tara said looking up at Sam tears pricking the corner of her eyes.

Sam mulled over Tara’s words realizing she had been pulling away since last December. But even more recently with starting high school. They’ve been promoting Stab-a-Thon for months at school and truth be told it was starting to get to Sam. She was numb most days to deal with the fear of who she was. Who she could be.

“Im so sorry. I didn’t realize. But no little one. You’ve done nothing wrong. High school is just a lot sometimes. It’s really not your fault.” Sam said as she kneeled down and cupped Tara’s face.

“Oh okay.” Tara respond with in a timid voice.

“Do you like breakfast?” She followed up with, as a smile grew across her tiny face.

Sam took a burnt piece of toast and took a bite. Immediately the ash flavoring coated her mouth. But she swallowed and put on a show.

“Mmmm when did you become a five star chef?” Sam asked making Tara erupt with glee

“Now hurry, go grab your book bag and put on your shoes. Mom will be up soon and we gotta get you to school now don’t we.” Sam said ushering Tara off.

She turned back to the burnt toast on the table and threw it in the trash and went to make some fresh pieces. ‘Tara won’t know the difference’ she thought to herself and right she was. As they made their way out the front door Tara was happily munching on her buttered toast she thought she had made.

Sam was just happy to have gotten everything done without running late for school. As they rounded the corner to walk through the town square, Sam froze in her tracks. Hanging from each lamp post was a Ghostface decoration. She knew it was only a matter of time before she was going to have to face people dressing up as her personal nightmare. But for the whole town to be covered in the reminder of what was in her blood made her stomach flip. It wasn’t until Tara started to tung on her sleeve that she snapped out of her trance.

“Sammy come on. What are you doing?” Tara said trying to get her big sister attention.

“Ya what sorry” Sam said looking down at her sister. She moved to take Taras hand as they continued forward towards Taras elementary school.

“Ouch, too tight” Tara tries to pull her hand from Sam’s. Sam immediately lets go not realizing she tensed her muscles at the sight of a a poster in the book stores window. ‘Today at 1pm Out of Darkness’ Sidney Prescott’s face beaming brightly behind the words.

“Sorry.” Sam said shoving her hands into her jacket pockets.

“What’s gotten into you?” Tara asked rubbing her now throbbing hand. Her big sisters been distant but not careless. Tara waited penitently for her sister to respond but alas all there was was silence.

Sam was frozen again. The sound of a car door caught her attention as she looked behind her and saw none other than Sidney Prescott in the flesh. Her blood ran cold at the sight. It was one thing to hear about her and the stories but there she was clear as day. Sam couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her heart beating in her ears. Her hands started to tingle inside of her pockets as her air ways closed.

“SAM” Tara yelled looking around to figure out what had such a grip on her sister.

“Shit sorry Tara. It’s just…” Sam looked to Tara who was eagerly waiting for the truth.

The truth.

Sam couldn’t face that. Sam couldn’t begin to explain to Tara what was going on with her. Not today. Hopefully never. So she switched on. She had to be there for Tara. She needed to keep it together for her.

“… been hard to sleep that’s all. Im sorry for being weird. No more of that as of now! How about after school today we watch some movies. I'll even make popcorn.” Sam said with a smile on her face. She had to pull it together. She promised to always be there for tara. Just because her life is turning out to be a shit show doesn’t mean she can’t make sure Taras isn’t.

“You mean it?” Tara said jumping a little as she walked.

“I promise” Sam said holding out her pinky. Tara took it with her own and then turned back to walking.

Lucky for Sam, Tara didn’t say anything else as they finished their walk to her school. Her mind raced ‘why was Sidney Prescott in town?. Nobody had seen her in years. Why of all days, times, years was she here?’

Before Sam new it they were outside Taras school.

“Have a good day. Love you” Sam said as she kissed Tara’s forehead

“Love you too!” Tara said walking off towards her group of friends. Sam waived at the twins and Wes.

As soon as Tara was safe inside Sam made her way to school. She put her headphones in and tried to tune out the world.

Only to catch a car rolling by right next to her causing her to jump a little.

“Hey Carpenter” Asked Kirby Reed leaning over to yell out her passenger side window.

“Oh hey Kirby” Sam responded digging her hands further into her jacket pocket.

“Need a ride? I gotta pick up Jill and Olivia still but I'm sure they won’t mind.” She asked with a genuine smile.

Sam thought about it as Kirby had always been so nice to her ever since she got paired with her for adopt a freshmen. It was a program for incoming freshmen to get paired up with a senior to show them the ropes. Sam forgot she signed up before everything went down. She’s honestly glad she did but would never admit to it.

“No i’m gonna walk, thanks tho.” Sam said thought a tight lipped smile.

“Suit yourself freshie” Kirby said stepping on the gas sending her flying down the street right past Sherif Riley.

Sam chuckled as she watch the car try and slow down as the Sherif yelled climbing into his own car.

Not too much later Sam was standing on the lawn of Woodsboro high school. Students swarmed around her going in every which direction. She took a deep breath as she made her way to the front on the school. Only to catch as she walked pass a group a seniors the one piece of information she needed to realize today was going to be her worst nightmare.

“Here is my Woodsboro massacre anniversary question. What is your favorite scary movie?”

‘Shit what’s today’ Sam thought to herself as she puled her old flip phone from her back pocket.

September 28th 2011

“Fuck” Sam muttered to herself.

Today was the 15th anniversary of the original massacre. The one where Billy Loomis her father and Stu Macher killed a bunch of kids at a house party. ‘How could she be so stupid. She knew this day would come. How could she forget’ Sam’s thoughts ran wild as she went to her locker. She couldn’t help but notice the growing pit inside of her. It settled low in her stomach gnawing at her as if it was trying to tell her something.

Once making it to her locker she opened it and put away her book bag and grabbed her stuff for first period. As she went to grab her books she saw her hand was shaking, she grabbed the side of her locker like her life depended on it and took a deep breath to try and steady herself. As her luck would have it, it didn’t work. So she wrapped her arms around her books and hurried off to her first class.

“Sam wait up!”

Sam turned around to see Vince Schneider running up beside her.

“What do you want Vince” Sam said dryly

“Nice to see you to sunshine. I just wanted to ask what you were doing tonight. Ive got a hook up if you're interested.” He said with a sly smile

“What makes you think i’d want to do that?” She asked

“Well you dropped all your old friends in the last year. Just thought you could use the company. Anyway, you know where to find me.” And with that he was gone.

After Sam had found the diaries she effectively pushed everyone she knew away. Not that there was a lot of people to push away in the first place but even acquaintances became strangers agin.

Sam sat in the back of her class and just waited for the bell to ring. It wasn’t that she was dumb or anything she just found it hard to care about how mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. When would that ever be useful?

On days like today time alway seemed to mess with her. One second she was here, the next someplace else. Sometimes time wouldn’t move at all and she'd be suck for what felt like hours. She thought herself lucky when the bell rang faster than she expected. In hindsight she wishes first period never ended.

Sam got settled into second period. She bounced her leg along to the sound of her heart beating in her ears. They were reading The Great Gatsby and were just about to start the open discussion when everybody’s phone started to buzz.

Sam pulled her shitty flip phone out of her back pocket, to her surprise and slight embarrassment she had nothing on her phone. It seemed that everyone had gotten a text about something. Why didn’t she?

“Oh my god Marnie Cooper and Jenny Randall were murdered last night. Says they were stabbed to death. They're saying it was Ghostface” One kid says as the rest of the class starts to erupt with chatter.

“Look” Some other kid said standing up and walking to the windows. There were already news vans racing down the street to set up and start interviewing students.

Sam want to get up to join her classmates but she couldn’t move. Her legs were cemented to the ground and no matter how hard her brain yelled at her arms, they wouldn’t budge. All she could hear were three words dancing around her mind making her skin crawl and the pit in her stomach grow.

Stabbed

Murdered

Ghostface

Everyone was up staring out the windows but her. Sam could feel her hands start to go numb. At first it was just her pinky finger but the more she sat with the knowledge the more the numbing traveled up her arms.

‘Were her classmates staring at her? When did they all start looking at her? Why were they staring? Do they know. They have to know. They all know.’ Sam’s head was screaming as her breath was becoming more and more labored.

‘Leave, Run, anything’ She heard break through the chatter in her mind. So Sam did exactly that. She ran, leaving all her stuff behind. Pushing through anyone in the hallway, she slammed the bathroom doors open and took the first available stall and locked it behind her curling up into a ball.

At this point her vision was starting to blur and the numbing had spread all over her body. She couldn’t even hear anything over the pounding of her heart inside her chest.

‘“Breath Sam just breath” She muttered to herself as she rocked back and forth in the shall.

Sam wanted to distract herself to calm her mind but there was no escape from the tormenting thoughts. ‘Why was this happening now. Someone had to know. What if she’s next. What if this is all her fault? What if they target Tara?’

“Tara” Sam said though numb lips. If she didn’t know any better she would assume she was having a stroke.

“Hello? Is someone in here?” A voice echoed thought the empty bathroom.

Sam was unwillingly shaking her leg causing the toilet seat they were resting on to rattle which alerted anyone who enters the bathroom of her existence.

“Hello?” The voice said again

Sam tried to speak, she really did, but her words caught in her throat.

“This isn’t funny. I can hear you.”

Sam tried to move again. Only her body was stuck shaking as her mind simply could no longer control her limbs. Sam could hear the girl walk slowly over to the stall she hid behind.

“If you don’t say anything I'm gonna open the door” Said the girl from the other side.

A beat passed and all the air seemed to evaporate from the room as the stall door swung open.

Sam’s body relaxed at the sight of Lindsay White, someone who she use to consider a friend. Well a friendly acquaintance at least.

“Samantha? What the hell is wrong with you? You scared me half to death. With the news of the Ghostface you really think it's funny to scare people?” She said holding a stern disappointed look across her face.

“Its Sam and what kind of psycho opens a bathroom door on someone?.” She said in a dry tone

Sam became free of her panic at the familiarity in front of her. She moved off the toilet seat and out of the stall.

“Ya, ya you go by Sam now. Whatever and you could have said something.” Lindsay said rolling her eyes

“What are you even doing in here? Oh my god have you been crying? What it’s not like you new them or anything” Lindsay noticed the red hints to Sam’s eyes and her face was slightly swollen and tear stained.

“Im fine Lindsay. Just drop it.” Sam snipped

“Drop it, Yeah… Like you dropped me?” Lindsay’s eyes narrowed at Sam. She moved only inches away staring at Sam through the bathroom mirror.

“We weren’t even friends” Sam said refusing to meet Lindsay’s eyes in the mirror as she washed her hands.

“Wow. Didn’t realize I meant so little to you.”

Sam waited a beat hoping the silence would send Lindsay away but Sam’s luck ran out a year ago when she opened that stupid diary.

“What even happened to you? One day you’re saying hi to me in the hall’s, asking to do projects together and the next I don’t even exist to you. Like ya, your dad left or whatever but you barely ever saw him anyway. You got cold and distant.”

Sam was gripping the side of the sink so hard her knuckles were turning white. Lindsay’s voice was like nails on a chalk board, effectively bubbling the constant rage that lay deep in Sam’s stomach.

“Lindsay just go” Sam said looking up to finally meet Lindsay’s gaze.

Lindsay stumbled back at the look on Sam’s face. Her eyes were dark and hooded.

“Oh my god. You did it.”

Sam’s heart imploded at the accusation completely dropping whatever expression she had a moment before.

“What? No… I…” Sam said almost sounding like a pleading child begging for their parents to understand.

“I know you Sam, you always had that glint. But it's more now. It’s different. Something inside you broke over Christmas break causing a dark cloud to always follow you around. Why else would you be hiding in here when the news dropped?” Lindsay’s voice was full of realization as if she found the last pice of the puzzle. But her words made Sam’s skin buzz with fear of the truth.

‘Your just like him’ She heard rattle around in her mind. Bile burned the back of her throat as she tried to swallow her emotions. So before Lindsay could add anything else or, Sam in turn make things worse she pushed pass the girl and ran out of the bathroom. Sam’s mind and body barely keeping up with the panic rising and falling inside of her. Her brain was on fire as her mind started to attack.

‘Murder, killer, you're just like him, Ghostface, stabbed to death, you did it, broken, you can’t escape it, darkness, psychopath, you did this, this is your fault’ Sam just kept running. If she ran fast enough maybe it would all stop maybe the voices would just shut up.

Before she knew it she was three blocks from the school and completely out of breath. She sat down on the closest stoop and tried to relax.

‘Think about the things that make you happy’ Sam remembers one of her mothers friends saying after her father not father left.

So Sam did exactly that she thought of Tara.

“Oh my god Tara” Sam said out loud as she bolted to her feet. Without even thinking her body moved towards her sisters elementary school. If she was gonna feel any better about the events of the day she needed her sister by her side. As they say anyone is a suspect and if that was the case she needed to protect her sister from anyone.

Upon reaching Taras school she saw the line of parents and cars rushing to pick up their children as news of Ghostface spread.

Sam made her way to get in line but stopped only feet away. Frozen once again she saw none other than her mother waiting impatiently in line at the school.

Her mother never picks Tara up. Even when Taras sick she calls Sam out of school so she can go pick her up and deal with it. With that being said their mother defiantly hadn’t called Sam out of school yet.

‘Fuck she can’t see me’ Sam thought to herself. She needed to get out of there and fast. At least she knows Tara’s gonna be at home. She would say safe but Christina as been becoming more and more erratic since last December.

As Sam is backing away she bumps into someone.

“Oh hi their Samantha. Are you here to pick up Tara?” Judy Hicks asked trying to steady the young girl in front of her.

“It’s Sam. But um, no, my mom is. I just came to make sure she got her.” Sam said shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Sorry, Sam, but before I forget is there a chance you could babysit Wes tonight and tomorrow? With all this craziness id feel much more comfortable if he was with his friends.” Judy looked down at Sam who seemed hesitant to answer.

“Ill pay double” She added

“Okay, ya I just gotta go back to school and get my stuff. You can drop him off whenever. I think my mom should be home with Tara” Sam shot the deputy a small smile before turning and walking back towards the high school.

“Be careful Sam.” Judy added as Sam walked away.

Sam kept walking towards the school but truth be told she’d rather get hit with a car than go back inside of that place. She just need a place to lay low for a bit. Going home was the obvious choice but now that she knows her mother will be there its the last place shell go.

So Sam walked and walked and walked until she came upon a park that wasn’t far from her home. She had taken Tara here to play plenty of times when their parents would fight or if she was babysitting the kids. The park was the first place all day Sam felt safe. So as if her body knew, exhaustion hit her like a truck. From having a plethora of panic attacks to walking what felt like a marathon she was about to collapse. So as soon as she came upon a park bench she sat down. Then she made the mistake of laying down.

‘Just a few minutes’ She thought to her self. It felt so good to just breath for a moment. She was so tired that her mind was finally silent.

“Yo Sam.”

Someone said as a hand shook Sam’s shoulder jolting her awake. In a panic she looked around trying to make out her surroundings. It was well past night fall causing Sam to strain her eyes as she realized who was there.

“God dammit Vince. You scared the shit out of me.” Sam barked

“Whoa don’t yell at me. Your the weirdo sleeping on a park bench with a serial killer on the loose” Vince shot back

“Whatever” She replied as she got up from the bench and stretched. She then noticed the other two kids a few yards away. They were smoking something.

“Why the hell are you here tho for real?” Vince asked sincerity dripping from his tone.

“Its none of your business okay.” Sam’s irritation was bounce off of her like hot oil

“Jesus fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Vince took a moment to take in Sam. His heart pinged seeing this disheveled girl who had clearly been crying most of the day. He saw a similar look flash in her eyes one he can relate too. One that say the world is just too much to take.

“There’s something about you carpenter. We're connected, I don’t know how yet but we are.” Vince looked at Sam with compassion and understanding. It made Sam’s skin burn like a magnify glass being held up to the sun.

“And somehow I'm the weirdo” Sam said as she gabbed her phone from her pocket to check the time.

“My phones dead. What time is it?” She asked putting the useless bric back into her pants packet

“9:18”

Sam sprinted before Vince could say anything else. ‘How the fuck did it get so late. She was suppose to watch Wes, Tara and the twins. Her mother’s gonna beat her senseless’ She thought to herself making her way down the street.

Sam took a second before entering the house. She knew It wasn’t going to be good but with all the kids over maybe that would lessen the punch of her mothers words. Christina would hate if those kids reported back to their parents how poor of a mother she is.

Then it hit Sam. The unnerving sounds of shear quiet. She couldn’t hear anything. There was no birds chirping or bugs buzzing. There wasn’t even the sound of the wind rushing though the trees. But worst of all there wasn’t the sounds of four 9 year olds running wild within the house. It was like the world was frozen with fear.

Sam sucked in a deep breath as she opened the front door. She yelled out for her sister to have some form of hope call back to her that everything was going to be okay. That her light was inside this haunted home and she was safe. But no words answered back. Just empty echoes of a broken house. Sam could feel the numbing tingles prick her pinkies once again. As she moved through the house every alarm in her body went off telling her to leave. To just turn back around and go. She knew she wasn’t safe, but when was Sam ever good at listing.

“Mom?” Sam asked once spying the older women standing in the kitchen wine glass in hand.

Christina took the last swig of her drink and began to poor another. Not even bothering to look up at her eldest.

“Where’s Tara?” Sam asked trying to suppress her panic. Yet her words fell on deff ears as her mother just continued to drink. Sam’s panic quickly shaped into anger. She didn’t like not knowing if Tara was safe or not.

“Mom where is Tara?” Sam said again more sternly finally pulling her hands from her pockets.

Yet again her mother completely ignored her.

Sam could feel the way the numbing sensation dissipated in her hands. She could feel them start to itch as they bawled into vengeful fists.

“I swear to God, if you don’t answer me I'm gonna…” Sam was cut off before she could finish

“Your gonna what Samantha? You're gonna hurt me? Huh? Is that it? You're gonna grab that knife and go to town? Gonna make daddy proud?”

Her words were like shrapnel from a bomb, logging themselves deep into Sam’s skin. But Sam stood there and took it. Absorbing the blows and pulling the pain into her rage.

“Fuck you. Im not playing this game. Where’s Tara?” Sam hissed at her mother.

“You couldn’t even last a year. I mean I knew it was inevitable, turning into him. It's always their Samantha, right in your eyes. I bet you’ve been planning since the night your bastard mouth ruined my life. You’ve just been biding your time until that bitch Prescott came back to town.” Christina could barely stand but that didn’t stop her from unleashing every vile thought in her mind.

Sam knew she should have walked away. She knew she should have taken the last bit of her sanity and walked away. But holding the rage back was becoming harder and harder with the bullets that left her mothers mouth. If she moved now she might not have control over what she did next and Christina could tell. She could see the way her daughter was seething under her words. Most mothers would stop at the visible anguish they cause their children. But Christina wasn’t most mothers.

“I sent Tara away to the twins house with Wes. As you should have been the one to watch them but I knew they wouldn’t be safe with you.”

“Excuse me” Sam spit out as red seeped in around her vision. She knew acting on her range would only prove her mother right.

“Don’t act coy, you heard me. God Samantha how do you live with yourself. How does it even feel?” Her mother started to cry, fake tears of course but it didn’t stop Sam’s heart from wincing at the sound.

“Answer me demon child. How did it feel? Say it! How did it feel to gut those kids Samantha!” Her mother yelled from across the counter.

“Just stop. Please” Sam felt the tears sting the back of her eyes. She didn’t realize she was teetering on the edge of rage and sorrow effectively falling to sadness. She would much rather feel the burn of rage than see her mother beam with pride at her tears.

“You were never a good liar Samantha. You’ve had plenty of time to deny my words but you stood there as if they were true. Because deep down you know they are. Deep down you're the same monster he was. As soon as I heard the news I knew it was you. Thank god I went to pick up Tara when I did.”

Sam’s breath hitched in her throat. She could feel the shame spread across her chest as she realized the only reason her mother was at Taras school was because she thought Sam had killed those girls. The realization hit that her mother wasn’t being mean for the fact that Sam caused her father not father to leave, like in the past. No, she genuinely believes Sam is following in her real father’s foot steps.

“You can kill me but I'll never allow you to hurt Tara” That was the last thing Sam remember’s hearing. A ringing replaced any and all sounds that followed and her vision was more crimson than before.

“Don’t you EVER say I would hurt Tara. She is everything to me. That’s something you could never understand. So don’t act like you care. Don’t act like I'm the threat here. We both know who you are so let me make everything clear. If you hurt her I will follow in his foot steps without even thinking. Do you understand.”

Fear flashed across her mothers face as she nodded and made her way out of the kitchen. Only to get one last word in before she walked down the hall.

“He was possessive too, just like his mother. Guess it runs in the family” her voice was soft as if she was whispering words of love to a child. Yet the words weren’t full of love but full of poison.

Sam stood there as the words washed over her mind. ‘Was her love for Tara toxic? Could she hurt her? Did it run in the family’ she thought to herself realizing she was holding in her breath. As she turned to leave she saw in her hand was a kitchen knife. Not knowing when or how she got a hold of it she threw it in the sink shuddering at the loud clinking sound it made as it settled.

“Can’t run from who you are Sam.” A deep voice echoed through her mind

Which in turn made Sam jump out of her skin but the voice was right. There was something wrong with her and she couldn’t get a grip on it. So Sam did what she does best and ran. Right out the front door and down the street back towards the park.

Before she new it she was coming into view of Vince and his friends again.

“Carpenter, back so soon?” Vince said trying to hide a sly smile.

“I just need it to stop” Sam said march right up to him.

“Whoa whoa what are you talking about?” He asked trying to stepped back at her sudden closeness.

“No, no questions. I just… I can’t handle this anymore. I can’t feel like this anymore” Sam said running her hands thought her hair. She was coming apart at her seams.

One of the other kids that was there walked over to a pacing Sam.

“Here you want this” They said holding out a joint to the clearly panic stricken girl.

Sam slowly reached for it. Her hands shook as she tried to carefully grab the object of her desires. But Vince saw all too clearly that look of fear in her eye. So he reached out his hand to stop hers.

“What the hell” Sam snapped at him like a dog nipping at its owner for taking its food.

“You don’t want that. It will just make your more paranoid” Vince said while rummaging around in his pocket.

“This is what you really want” He finished pulling a small pill out from his coat.

“What is that?” Sam asked in a soft broken tone.

“Xanax. All your little worries will be long gone with this baby” Vince said with a smile placing the pill into Sam’s hand.

Without even thinking Sam swallowed the pill and walked over to the bench she was laying on before. Within minutes Sam started to feel better. It was the first time in a while someone was honest to her. All her worries were slowly drifting away along with herself. She doesn’t remember most of the night. Just the feeling of floating away.

In the morning she woke to a killer headache in a house she didn’t quite recognize. Only to see Vince and the other kids all passed out around her. She made her way to the first bathroom she could find to try and wash up. She had another long day ahead of her and school was the last thing she wanted to attend.

She turned the water on to wash her face. As she waited for the water to warm up she finally took in her appearance. Her hair was a tangled mess and her skin was pale from exhaustion. But mainly her eyes seemed haunted and tired. They were still blood shot from the drugs she took the night before. It made her shudder, the look of herself, she honestly didn’t really know who was staring back at her in that mirror.

Sam tested the water again and slashed her face taking deep breaths as she fought off the impeding thoughts of what to do next. She knew she had a lot to face today. Yesterday was just so overwhelming it felt like her brain split in two.

Wiping her face off she looked back up to see how well she washed off the last 24 hours. Only to see someone else staring back at her. She jumps out of her skin and fell to the floor. Trying to take deep breaths to calm down.

“Come on Sam get it together. Nobody is there. It's fine. You're fine.” She says to calm herself down.

Sam slowly stands back up and faces the mirror. Her legs turn to cement as an explosion of anxiety and fear spread all over her body. Her lips go numb and her hands shake as she stars none other than Billy Loomis in the eye.

“Y.. y… you’re not R…real. It’s just the drugs” Sam stutters out

“We both know it’s not the drugs Sam. We both know why I’m here” Billy says in his hunting voice.

Sam can feel a cold sweat run down her spine. She can feel the way a dark pit forms in the center of her body. She can feel how she wishes it was fear, how her heart yearns for her gut to tell her this is all wrong. But it doesn’t. The pit only grows as she stares her father in the eye and it feels like power. All consuming, all intoxicating power. Her hands start to itch causing her to look down breaking the connection Billy had with her. She examines her hands noticing things she never had before. The way they're covered in scars and bruises. The way they’ve been itching and burning every time her anger goes unchecked. The way they have the power to kill and how much they crave it. So, she shoves them in her pocket and bolts out the door. She can’t think of what’s next she only knows that nobody around her is safe. That what’s happening can’t be a coincidence, Sam is at fault and everybody knows it.

Before Sam can get to the front door she runs right into Vince. Knocking them to the floor.

“Fuck Carpenter”

Sam ignores the boy and gets up to leave but he stops her before she can go, effectively catching her wrist in his grip.

“Wait are you okay?” He asked noticing the shine in her eyes.

“Its whatever. I gotta go” Sam said pulling her arm from his grasp.

“Fine, just here” He said putting a small baggie filled with Xanax into her hand

“But I…” She started and was cut off before she could continue

“You seem like you need it more than I do” He said with a soft smile

“Thanks” She said with a nod and turned to leave.

Upon making it outside and down the driveway Sam could feel the weight of the little baggie in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked down at it rubbing the plastic between her fingers.

The back of her mind was buzzing with all the suppressed thoughts of what just happened. She knew that door would break eventually.

“You can’t run from me Sam” A voice broke through her rattling mind causing her to pop another pill before she could even blink.

In a nearby car she could she the outline of Billy glaring at her leaving perpetual goosebumps on her skin. But as the Xanax started to take effect her skin returned to its softness and her vision was clear. She relished in the way her mind grew quiet and her body got lighter.

But with a quiet mind comes a lack of judgement. So Sam found herself standing in the kitchen of her own home when all of a sudden she felt a weight collide into her and wrap its arms around her.

“Where were you?” Tara said clinging to Sam with all her strength.

“What?” Sam said trying to push the doe eyed girl off her.

“You promised. You said you’d be here and you weren’t.” Taras voice broke as she looked up at Sam. Tears were already falling from Tara’s eyes before Sam could even understand what her baby sister was talking about.

“You said we would watch movies and have popcorn. You lied” The hurt in Taras eyes was enough to cause Sam to sober up enough to at least communicate.

Sam got down on her knees to better look Tara in the eyes.

“Im so sorry. It’s just complicated Tara.” Sam said trying to sooth her little sister.

But Tara just pushed out of her grip. The hurt in her eyes dissolved into betrayed.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Tara asked causing Sam to rub them and look away.

“Nothing their fine. It’s not a big deal, now can we please move on?” Sam’s tone was unnatural and out of place. She couldn’t quite grasp the situation at hand and was perpetually digging herself further into a whole she started 9 months ago.

Tara walked over and grabbed her book bag by the front door.

“Your right Sam it’s not a big deal. Im gonna walk with the twins today.” Tara said and walked out the door.

Sam could feel her heart shatter into a million pieces but nothing came of it. The drugs she took stopped the pain from reaching anywhere inside of her. She was numb but not in the ways like before. Funny enough she wanted to feel it this time. She needed it to. Maybe if she could have she wouldn’t have walked down this path.

“And you said you’d never hurt her” said the devil up the stairs.

Her mother had sent the last nail for Sam’s coffin because she was right. Sam hurt Tara and she couldn’t even care. She’s been hurting Tara without even noticing. She’s going to keep hurting Tara. She’s been predestined to destroy everything around her and theirs no stopping it now. So Sam pulled that small little baggie out of her pocket. The last whispers from the angle on her shoulder were screaming to stop. But she didn’t. She took another pill from the bag and popped it into her mouth and headed for the front door.

“Where the hell do you think you're going Samantha? There was another murder last night and I cannot let you leave in good conscience.” Christina said trying to get under Sam’s skin.

But Sam just turned back to her mother. Nothing in her eyes.

Christina grew irritated at how unbothered Sam was towards her.

“If you leave I'll call the cops. Don’t think I won’t Samantha.” She spewed losing her temper quicker than shed like.

“Call them then. See what I care” Sam said slamming the front door behind her and walking down the driveway.

“You come back here right now. Don’t you dare leave me Samantha. Come back. I swear to God don’t leave me.” Her mother yelled as she walked onto the grass of their home.

Christina only wanted a play toy that would never leave. She wanted someone to abuse and project onto but would forgive her. That would bend and break to all her empty threats. She loved her toxic game of pushing and pulling. So when her father not father left for real Christina needed a new object to break.

Tara was too weak and fragile she told herself but deep down she knew Sam was always going to protect her. It made her sick with jealousy. So when she pushed Samantha for the first time and saw a glimpse of those eyes she loved so many years ago, she relished in having a toy that didn’t easily break.

“Your just like him. You're evil. You hear me Samantha, you’ve got the devil in your blood.” She was hysterical at this point. She knows she didn’t lose this time. Christina just didn’t think her new toy would stop playing the game.

So no matter what her mother yelled from their yard, Sam just kept walking, letting the drugs take over her mind. She wasn’t mad, or sad, or scared. She wasn’t anything. She was completely empty.

Sam then had one singular thought that changed the next 10 years of her life.

Maybe if she could just stay empty, she wouldn’t be able to destroy the life around her.

#I really hope this is good. I’m so nervous about it but hey I love it so ya🙃#oh and sorry for sadness #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #scream #fuck christina carpenter #samantha carpenter #kirby reed

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koulakoukoula2003 · 3 years

Text

Runaway Part 1 (Levi x Reader)

Pairing: Levi x Reader, Levi x You, Levi x y/n, Levi x OC

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Blood and Violence

Genre: fluffyyyyy flufffffffff

Summary: As a brilliant scientist of the Survey Corps -and a researching buddy of Hange's- you've started discovering things about the Titans that the government has tried so hard to keep in the dark. During the Uprising Arc, the MPs come after you and chase you down. Little do they know that you're Captain Levi's girlfriend and they'll have to go through him first if they wish to go after you.

Part 1 >>> Part 2

She knew it wasn’t Levi when a bullet came flying her way. (Y/n)’s reflexes kicked in. She jumped out of the way. She looked at the table where she had all her samples. Her eyes widened. No! There was no way she was going to let it all go to waste. She had to protect those samples. She had to protect her notebook and her research. It had all the answers. It had everything they needed.

(Y/n) saw two soldiers from the Military Police barging in with their rifles in their hands. She kicked her chair to their way. They moved out of the way and pointed their rifles at her. She heard footsteps from behind her and before she even knew it, a hand was around her neck from behind, choking her. (Y/n) gritted her teeth. Bastards.

She stepped on the man’s leg powerfully with her own. He winced. She elbowed him on the jaw and the other two started firing. She grabbed the man that she had elbowed and she used him to shield her body from the bullets. The man’s blood spilled on her clothes. Dammit. Her skirt was ruined.

“Just take her out already!” One of them shouted to the other, but before they had the chance to place down their guns and attack on hand-to-hand combat someone else attacked them from behind.

Levi’s punches and kicks were rough, fast, and precise. It only took a few of them for the MPs to fall down unconscious. (Y/n) let down the man that had been shot at many times only for Levi’s hand to find its way around her waist and pull her protectively against him. His eyes, wide in alarm, met her own.

“Those bastards didn’t hurt you, did they?!” Levi asked worriedly.

His thumb found her cheek making sure he had her attention. He was breathless. He must have been running. And, of course, he had been running. He had to find her as fast as possible. He had to keep her safe. Coming in Trost was incredibly foolish of her. Alas, he knew the importance of her research.

(Y/n) shook her head. She escaped from his arms and she started stuffing her samples back in her bag as hastily as she could, and most important of all, her notebook.

“We need to get you out of here,” Levi grabbed her hand and started dragging her away with him.

“Why would the MPs attack me?!” (Y/n) asked as they ran downstairs. His fingers were almost painfully tight around her own.

“Because you know things you’re not supposed to,” Levi answered but he heard footsteps.

He urged her to get into one of the many offices around the hall that they were now in. The offices were empty and dark. Night had finally fallen outside, but the halls had torches all around that were bringing enough light in the Survey Corps HQ. That office was empty and dark as well. They should be able to hide.

There were more MPs. Of course, they’d send an entire battalion for her. She was Captain Levi's childhood friend. She had survived living in the Underground. A talented Lieutenant of the Survey Corps. There’s no way merely three MPs would be enough to take her out. And Levi’s assumptions were correct. A hand was thrown around her protectively as he leaned and peeked through the keyhole.

“Do you think they got her?”

“I did hear a couple of shots, sir, but I’m not so sure,”

Levi was right. They were many. He could take them out on his own empty-handed and he wouldn’t break a sweat, but he had to take her out of there as fast as possible. He turned at (y/n). Her back pressed against the door. She tried to whisper something, but his fingers found her lips, sealing them back closed. They had reached the ground floor. They would be able to escape through the windows.

He nodded his head at the direction of the windows in the office and she nodded. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, he wouldn’t be able to tell her an entire plan through just one look. His fingers were still tight around her own and they approached the windows. Much to their luck, the stables were right beside that part of the building. He pulled the window open and he jumped out. She jumped out as well, careful not to make a sound. It wasn’t too high, but high enough to make her doubt herself.

But he caught her. Levi’s arms were tight around her, and he cursed when he realised that footsteps were once again approaching. Of course, they’d check the stables. It was still dark. There were no lights at the back of the building and anybody could grab a horse and sneak away.

Levi turned only to see that they were pretty damn close. There was no way they had enough time to grab a horse and start riding away without having the damn MPs chasing them. Maybe he’d have to fight after all. But (y/n) had a better idea in mind. Her hand found his shoulder, drawing his attention.

“Kiss me,”

Levi turned and looked at her confusedly. “(Y/n), this is no time for-”

But she grabbed his black jacket bringing him closer and before he had the chance to finish what he had to say, her lips crushed against his own and he instantly forgot what he was trying to say. She had never kissed him so ferociously before. Her tongue met the back of his throat and he groaned. Shit. He was beginning to catch up on what she was trying to do. But still, this was too risky and too exciting, but brilliant nonetheless.

His hand found her hip, settling a leg around his waist and he kissed her back just as ferociously as she did. He knocked her back against the brick wall. His fingers clutched in her thigh. Levi bit down on her lip and she let out the filthiest moan he had ever heard in his life. It made his blood go south. Fuck. If they kept this up, they’d be putting more than a show outside the freaking stables.

“Everything clear, officer?”

A superior’s voice came from behind and the officers found themselves unable to come up with a clear answer. All they had were two people making out at the back of the building and they doubted if the woman was (F/n) (L/n). (F/n) (L/n) should be on the run by now. These two were probably drunkards from a nearby inn and they had just ended up out there.

“Everything clear, sir!”

“Get your asses back here!”

“Yes, sir!”

The MPs left fast enough, but Levi wouldn’t stop kissing her until she actually pulled back. Her taste, still on his lips. His hands still too tight around her, but she still managed to get away. How could she always know how to escape his grasp? It frustrated him. She still caught his hand and guided him over to the stables to get a horse and ride away.

“Let’s go!” She whispered.

“R- Right,”

Compose yourself!

A/N: Lemme know what you guys think!!!! Lemme know if you liked it!!! I'll post a Part 2 soon!!!! Feel free to reblog and comment below 🥰

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #leviackerman #snk #aot #fluff #levi x oc #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n

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rosaliestark01 · 3 years

Text

Dusk Till Dawn - Part 8

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You play double agent while the Avengers search for you.

Warnings: more swearing than usual, angst, violence

A/N: @annies-marvel-imagines will no longer be posting more parts, but she will still receive credit.

You paced around Ezekiel's secret hideout and realized several things. The first thing is that there was no way that these two individuals managed to get their hands on such high-level tech by themselves. The second was that Ezekiel obviously lied about being your dad. The third was that Ezekiel most definitely had enough money to get a less crappy apartment. The fourth and most crucial thing you realized was that you'd have to play along with their plan longer than you wanted to.

Judging by the number of meals you've gotten, you'd guess you've been there for three days. It was hard to pretend that you wanted to wipe out the Avengers, but you had to remind yourself that this was just another mission. Except, you didn't have your suit or any means of contacting your team. Plus, the Avengers had no idea where you were, what you were doing, or what you were trying to do. You were on your own.

"Don't just stand there, you spoiled brat. Help us out," Eloise yelled at you.

Another thing that made it hard to act like you were on their side was the constant feeling of wanting to strange Eloise every time she opened her mouth. She honestly reminded you of a penny. Two-faced and not worth much.

"What the hell is this thing?" you ask as you approach the strange metal box that Eloise and Ezekiel had struggled to get out of Ezekiel's truck.

"You like it?" he asks, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. Was this guy serious?

"Did your ears suddenly stop working, or are you just that bad at listening to someone else's shit for once?" You say without thinking. The strange looks from them tell you that it was the wrong thing to say, so you backtrack. "Sorry, I'm still a little nervous about all this."

"It's fine," Ezekiel mutters, coughing awkwardly before becoming grave. "As long as you do your job, you have nothing to worry about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, suddenly becoming defensive.

"This is your new suit." Eloise snarks, clearly trying to get everyone's attention back onto the metal box. She pressed a button, causing it to open.

Inside was a suit that looked similar to your dad's iron suit, but instead of red and gold, it was black and purple.

"Why does it look like that?" You ask. Why would they base the suit off of Iron Man's suit if they hate his guts?

"We figured you'd like an upgrade," Ezekiel beamed proudly. You're assuming that he was the one who built it, but you weren't ready to jump to conclusions. The guy already had trouble figuring out how to open the microwave. "Your old suit seemed..."

"weak," Eloise rolled her eyes as she finished his sentence.

"It was flexible and bulletproof," you defended. The suit you always wore worked well for years. Who do these people think they are? "I made it with my d- with Tony Stark."

"That explains a lot." She crosses her arms as she stares down at you with a judgmental glare. "Trust me. If you're going up against the Avengers, you're going to want to wear this. It'll protect you better than that flimsy piece of shit you always wore before."

"Fine," you mumbled, remembering that it is in your best interest to pretend that you agree with them.

--------------------

Peter felt like he was drowning.

He'd never gone this long without knowing if you were okay or not, and it was killing him. Without you, his Peter-Tingle, or Spidey-Senses as you called it, felt like a timer he couldn't shut off. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the fact that he was worried out of his mind or if it meant that you were in danger. Maybe both?

What was worse was that he had to pretend everything was okay. Happy was in the hospital, you were missing, and the Avengers were moving heaven and Earth to find you, but he couldn't join them. May and the Avengers insisted that he let the "adults" handle this. Did it ever occur to them that you matter to him just as much, if not more?

"Hey, Pete?" Ned and the rest of your friends approached him hesitantly. They all worried about you, but they knew that it was harder on him. "Is there any update on Y/N?"

"Not yet." Peter would have known if there was even a slight update. "Have any of you heard anything?"

"Gwen feels guilty about what happened at homecoming," Harley states ."She says that if she hadn't spilled her drink on Y/N, she never would have left the gym."

They all look to where Gwen was standing with her friends. She didn't look happy. In fact, she looked like she hadn't slept since word got out that you were missing.

"She should feel guilty." Peter huffs, "If she got over her damn pettiness long enough to realize that I love Y/N, I never would have lost her."

"Still... she said she'd back off," Harry says, feeling uncomfortable with the current subject. There is no excuse for what Gwen did, but she did look like she had learned her lesson.

"We want to help," Betty admitted, causing a bit of hope to fill Peter's mind. So far, all he's heard was "let the adults handle this". Knowing that his friends want to help find you was like a breath of fresh air.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel right to sit back and do nothing when Y/N is who knows where," Harry sighs, patting Peter on the back.

"Thanks, guys," Peter replies, smiling for the first time since you've disappeared. "That means-"

Before he could finish, he turned around, and not a second later, an explosion went off right across from the school.

"What the f-"

----------------

"I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that you never told us that Y/N was adopted," Clint says as he paces back and forth in the compound. He didn't have the slightest idea that anything was going on until he received a call telling him that you were missing and that help was needed tracking you down.

"He had his reasons; now are you going to focus more on that or finding Y/N?" Pepper replied, defending Tony. Although she agrees that Tony should have told you, she knows that he had his reasons.

"Maybe she doesn't want to be found?" Clint asks, although the second it came out of his mouth, he knew it sounded stupid.

"No," Steve says, his arms crossed in concentration. "I've known Y/N for a long time, and she's a good kid. She's going through stuff right now, but she'd never run away or leave Happy alone while he's in the hospital. Something else is going on, and I'd bet it had to do with those two."

The TV displayed everything they knew so far. The two likely suspects were none other than Eloise Day and Ezekiel Stane. Security footage showed you getting into Eloise's car, which was later found outside a shambly apartment building. After further inspection, your phone was found inside of the apartment belonging to Ezekiel Stane.

"Agreed". Tony stared at the screen, trying to figure out if there is anything he's missing. He knows that Ezekiel is the son of his old business partner. Tony knows that Eloise was a new student who gained your trust. What he didn't realize was their connection and what their goal is.

"If-When we find her, you need to tell her the truth," Steve tells him.

"Yeah, we'll go out for cheeseburgers and laugh about it. Am I right?" Tony snaps. It was clear that he knew who your real father is and that you might already know him too. "I- I don't want her to hate me when I tell her."

"Trust me. Y/N will understand if your heart was in the right place," Steve encourages, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. For a second, Tony's shoulders slump before his resold seems to harden.

"Her real dad is-"

"I think you'll be able to tell her yourself," Nat speaks urgently. "Y/N's been spotted in Queens."

"Let's suit up."

-------------------

You couldn't help but feel as though your plan was about to fail. Eloise and Ezekiel have recently kept a closer eye on you than usual, which isn't good. You have a feeling that they're on to you, which means that you might have to improvise.

"Play along," Ezekiel mutters in your ear before roughly grabbing your arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eloise pointing some blaster at you that looks too much like the one that Hydra dude shot you with.

Before you can ask what he was doing, a familiar figure swung in front of you.

"Let her go," Peter demands. Although you cannot see his face, you can tell he's angry. You felt bad for putting him through this, but in the long run, you'll have to put him through it a little longer.

"Fat chance, you spider freak!" Eloise roars, suddenly pointing the blaster at Peter.

"Wait-" You yell, but your voice is drowned out by Ezekiel's yells as Eloise pulls the trigger.

It was like everything was happening in slow motion. You wanted to scream for Peter, but the shot never made it to its target. Instead, it met with a familiar red, white, and blue shield.

"Whatever happened to my signal?!" Ezekiel yelled at Eloise, who rolled her eyes for the one-hundred-millionth time that day.

"I'm not letting you crap on my chance again, old man!" She barks at him as she continues firing the blaster. By now, all of the Avengers seem to have shown up, and her target was everyone.

"Don't you d-" He yells, but she ignores him.

Cursing, he tries to pull you away from the fight as he tries to think of a new plan. You already knew what needed to happen, but you weren't sure if you were ready to see everyone's faces when you are forced to betray them.

"So is this a thing now? Kidnapping my daughter for revenge or something?" your dad asks as he lands in front of you and Ezekiel, ready to fight.

"Who said I kidnapped her?" Ezekiel smirks. You wanted to wipe the arrogance off his face, but you couldn't. You had a job to do.

"Dammit," You curse. You press the button on your bracelet that morphed into your "new" suit. You didn't want to see the looks everyone will give you, so as you took down the people you call your family, you couldn't look them in the eye.

TAG LIST:

@eridanuswave @perspectiveparker @spidey-reids-2003 @ilovespideyyy @purplekitten30 @slytherinambitious @starryeddie @grapesauze @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @thegayseance @whiskeywinter89

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader insert #tom holland peter parker #avengers #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x stark!daughter #tony stark x daughter reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #avengers x y/n #dad!iron man x avenger!reader #(Y/N)s dad is...#peter parker x stark!reader #spider man x y/n #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x avenger!reader #spider man x reader

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patriciasage · 3 years

Text

Title: double trouble

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Amnesty

Pairings: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton, Dani/Aubrey Little (mentioned)

Summary:

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of Duck stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned, pointing the NARF blaster at them both, is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking.

“Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

[posted in full below the break, but you can find me on AO3]

Aubrey is scared shitless, but she won’t admit it.

This abomination isn't like anything they’ve faced. Before, hunting them felt like finding a dangerous animal that had to be put down. This one is intelligent and intentional, and the attacks are personal. Knowing the abomination had taken Dani’s form sends a shiver down Aubrey’s spine.

Eugene had told Duck that he had seen some ‘alien activity’ at Pins & Needles, the bowling and knitting club, so the Pine Guard was sent to investigate.

“You’re not supposed to split the party,” Aubrey whispers.

“But a group of three people cannot investigate two noises at once, Aubrey,” Ned replies, continuing to sweep the staff room with his flashlight. Aubrey is comforted by the flame in her hand as both a light source and a weapon. “Besides, Duck can take care of himself. He has a sword, for goodness sake.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have his powers anymore and he didn’t bring his helmet! I’m worried about him.”

“There’s only the bathrooms left to check and then we shall be reunited. Nothing to fret about, my dear.”

Except, there is something to fret about. A shout echoes through the building, followed by a loud crash. Ned and Aubrey look at each other for a second before sprinting toward the sound. “Duck!” Aubrey calls. A loveseat is overturned in the knitting area and a ball of yarn has made its way halfway down one of the lanes. There’s no sight of their friend.

The phone behind the front counter begins to ring. Before Aubrey can think about answering it, there’s another sound.

A crash followed by some swearing. It’s coming from the area behind the lanes. Ned makes his way to the carpeted path on the edge of the room. Aubrey runs directly down Lane 3, her combat boots skidding slightly on the smooth wood. When she reaches the end of the lane, she doesn’t stop to think before she hits the floor. She propels herself into a slide, feet first, crashing through the bowling pins and the plastic curtain and emerging in the back room. Ned flings open the door, out of breath, just after Aubrey gets to her feet. They take in a strange and frightening sight.

Duck is on the floor and he is grappling with someone who is also wearing a ranger uniform. The person underneath clips him with a punch to the side of the head and dislodges him. It’s dim in this back room but Aubrey can see his opponent’s rugged features, now. It’s Duck.

Duck reaches amongst some bowling pins and retrieves Beacon. He swings it down with ferocity and Aubrey lets out a startled shout as it moves toward her friend’s face. But the attack is intercepted by another Beacon. The two swords wrap around each other like snakes, spitting insults.

“False! Ephemeral!” One of them snarls.

“Pathetic duplication! You cannot compare to Beacon!” The other shouts.

“Fuck,” Aubrey says.

Ned steps forward in the hallway behind the pin-dispensing machines. Aubrey clambers down next to him as he draws the NARF blaster. “Halt, Ducks!” Ned commands. “Step away!”

Both Ducks look up from their tangled position on the floor. The one on top attempts to yank Beacon back, but the two swords are linked together. The force of their sword tug-of-war causes both weapons, still entangled, to be flung in the air. One of the Ducks reaches for Beacon, but Ned takes a threatening step forward. “Hey!” They both freeze. “Stand up and kick the swords to me.”

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of her friend stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking. “Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

They speak at the same time: “I told you!” / “No shit, Aubrey.”

“Alright. Everybody, remain calm,” Ned says authoritatively. He levels the NARF blaster between them. “Tell me something that only Duck would know.” It’s incredibly cliché. Aubrey resists the urge to roll her eyes.

The two Ducks speak at once, again: “Uh, that we hooked up?” / “Like how we slept together eight years ago?”

Aubrey’s jaw drops and she looks over at Ned, scandalized. Ned adjusts his grip on his weapon, flustered and embarrassed.

Aubrey hits him in the arm with her non-flaming hand. “Ned, you idiot, the Bom-Bom looked through all your memories when you were in that hotel!”

“Right,” Ned mumbles, blushing. He clears his throat and attempts to look intimidating again. “Tell us something only Aubrey would know!” Aubrey groans in frustration.

Duck One, on the left, speaks up. “We don’t have time for this, y’all. The more we fuck around, the more time it has to figure out how to get past us.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ned shouts.

“We can’t let it get away again, Ned!” Duck One reiterates. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “Shoot us both.”

“What!?” Duck Two protests.

Aubrey sees Ned make a decision. Her heart races, but she’s frozen to the spot.

Ned shoots the Duck on the right.

Except his flesh doesn’t come apart in scattered orbs of light. He doesn’t scream like a malfunctioning computer. Red blood, and lots of it, pours out of the wound in his thigh. Duck collapses with a very human yell. “Fuck! Ned!”

The abomination takes advantage of this moment of distraction to create a rift. It steps through, smiling with Duck’s face. The rift closes and Ned’s second foam bullet embeds itself into the wall.

Aubrey and Ned run to their fallen friend. Aubrey feels sick at the sight of his pants darkening with blood. Duck lifts his shaking hands off of the wound for a second before pressing them down again, hard. “It’s not – fuck! – Doesn’t look like you hit an artery. But holy shit, Ned! I could never take a bullet, but I really can’t take a bullet right now, man; I’m just a regular guy! Fuck!”

“I’m so sorry, Duck. I thought it would be very improbable for the abomination to volunteer to be shot.”

“And you thought I would volunteer to be shot!? Fuck, man, you should have done what it said and shot us both. This is worst-case scenario shit right here. Dammit!”

“Yes. I’m –” Ned looks absolutely miserable, but he steels himself and turns to Aubrey, who has stalled next to the growing puddle of blood on the carpet. “Aubrey, go to the front desk and call an ambulance. Bring back the first aid kit under the counter.” He takes off his jacket and places it on Duck’s thigh, replacing the ranger’s hands with his own.

“How do you know it’s under the counter?”

“It’s always under the count– go, Aubrey!”

“Right!” She takes off running, this time through the door and along the side wall. She jumps over the counter and frantically scans over the bowling shoes before finding the landline on the wall.

The phone rings just as her fingers are about to touch it.

Aubrey answers, “H-hello?”

“The ambulance will take too long. I’ll be there soon.”

The voice is familiar, often heard through a telephone. “Indrid! Wait…was that you calling, before?”

“Yes, Aubrey,” he replies a little harshly. “I was going to tell you not to shoot my boyfriend.”

Her first instinct is to protest, correct him that it was Ned who pulled the trigger. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”

Indrid sighs and the sound pushes against the receiver. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’ll be there soon.” The dial tone rings in her ears.

About five minutes later, the bell above the front door rings. Aubrey and Ned, crouched over their injured friend in the back of the alley, share a meaningful look. Duck is slumped against the wall, pale and bleeding through the bandages. They’re ready to protect him.

There’s a deep fluttering of wings and the scraping of claws on the wood flooring. Then…nothing. It’s almost impossible to hear footsteps on carpet. Aubrey raises a fist of flame and Ned readiest the NARF blaster at the door.

Ironically, they’re relieved to see a monster step through. He’s so tall he has to crouch under the doorframe, wings folded close to his body. His huge red eyes glow in the dim room, flickering in Aubrey’s light. A pair of clawed hands raise in response to Ned and Aubrey’s defensive stance, the other pair holding onto a white box. He chitters in a way that Aubrey assumes is meant to be calming. All she can focus on is the movement of his sharp, terrifying mandibles.

Duck speaks up from behind them, his voice weak. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hello, Duck.” Indrid reaches out a clawed, dark hand and hands Ned another first aid kit. He must have brought this one from his Winnebago or from another room in the building. “You need to add more bandages – tighter – if he’s going to make it to the hospital.”

Ned nods and gets to work. Aubrey wonders absentmindedly why he’s so calm about this. The moment she saw the bullet go into Duck’s leg, she just about passed out.

Indrid turns to Aubrey and tilts his head to the side in a swift, insectoid motion. Aubrey has only seen him in his Sylph form once – the time they asked for his glasses at the Winnebago. If she didn’t know he was a friend, she would be absolutely terrified right now. As it were, she’s still a little unsettled by his proximity. He towers over her, dark and frightening.

Indrid seems to notice her reaction. Shoulders hunched a little, he draws a pair of glasses from a pouch on his waist (like a moth fanny pack, Aubrey thinks). When he puts them on, he becomes the pale, tall, slightly disheveled man she’s familiar with. He’s wearing an old sweater of Duck’s, emblazoned with one of The Smiths’ album covers. Indrid looks a little uncomfortable. Aubrey realizes with a jolt of guilt that it’s because of her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m just not, you know, used to seeing you as the Mothman. You can take your glasses off if you want!”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Indrid replies. He fiddles with the large lenses and shivers a little. He keeps his disguise on. Aubrey feels bad for making him feel self-conscious. Empathetically, she thinks of how it would feel for people to look at her and act scared or unsettled. Just because he’s a giant, frightening moth doesn’t mean she should make him feel bad about himself.

Before Aubrey can make an attempt at a better apology, Ned speaks up. “Won’t you be spotted transporting him to the emergency room?”

Indrid’s head tilts back and he freezes for a moment, evaluating potential futures. He returns to the present with a sigh. “He’s going to pass out before we get there.” His hands clench in frustration. “I can’t carry him in my human form.” Indrid turns to Duck. “Sorry, Duck, I’m going to have to leave you on the sidewalk outside of the hospital and call in from a payphone. Too many questions.”

Duck manages a weak shrug and grimaces. “Well, shit. Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Indrid glances over at Aubrey before taking off his glasses again. Aubrey makes sure to keep her face neutral as the Mothman appears in front of her once more. Ned scrambles out of the way. Indrid kneels and his claws dig into the carpet. When he stands up, he has Duck cradled gently in his top set of arms, the other two providing support. Duck is a big guy, but he looks almost small surrounded protectively by Indrid’s wings.

Aubrey thinks about how most people would find Dani scary in her Sylph form, but all Aubrey sees is the woman she cares about, the woman she would do anything for. Indrid must be like that for Duck. Even though the Mothman’s transformation is significantly more intense than Dani’s, this is his authentic self. As the four of them make their way out of the back room and past the bowling lanes, Aubrey can’t help but notice the comfort the two take in each other. Duck buries his fingers in some chest feathers while Indrid’s free hand gently strokes his hair. It’s kind of…cute.

Ned opens the front door to the bowling alley and peers around the parking lot. “Coast is clear,” he says, holding the door open for everyone to step through.

Aubrey turns to Indrid. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Indrid replies, then takes off into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings.

Aubrey and Ned watch until Indrid’s form disappears into the night sky. Ned sighs and Aubrey looks over at him. He looks like he’s about to crumble from guilt. He’s much bigger and taller than her, so all she can do is place a comforting hand on his arm.

“Come on, baby driver, let’s hit the road.”

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toria-lilith · 3 years

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Smoke and Roses - A Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx fan fiction (chapter one)

A/N - Hi guys! So I made a post about this a few days ago but I decided, since I finally remembered the fucking password to this blog, that I’d rework some of the writing and plot points in Smoke and Roses, and republish it! I really hope you enjoy more this time round!

Fic Summary: Holland Van-Ness is a PR manager. At only twenty three years old, she is smart, sharp and straight edge; and the best in the business at what she does. But when she gets involved with the reckless Motley Crue, her life changes forever.

DISCLAIMER:: I would like start by saying I do not condone any of the actions portrayed by any member of Motley Crue, any member of their crew, or any OC. This work is fictitious, and is in no way meant to glamorise drug or alcohol abuse. ‘Smoke and Roses’ is based on the events of Netflix’s ‘The Dirt’, and the autobiography of the same name, and follows the both of them closely, and will include details regarding the aforementioned abuse that may be triggering to some readers. The timeline in this fic also differs slightly from real life and The Dirt. With all that being said, proceed with caution, and enjoy!

It was the ringing of the phone that awoke Holland.

In her grogginess, she seriously considered rolling back over and ignoring it, but just when she thought it was done, it started to ring again; long, and loud, and tearing her back from the comfort of sleep.

Holland groaned. She rolled begrudgingly out of bed and made her way across her bedroom, where her phone was hung upon the wall opposite her bed by the window. Whoever was calling her better have had a damn good reason to be bothering her at nine AM, and on a Saturday of all days.

“Hello?” She said tiredly into the receiver, running a hand back through her dark blonde hair to push it back from her face, “Holland Van-Ness speaking.”

“Ahh, Holly,” a voice, irritatingly cheerful for the time of day, greeted her on the other end. “It’s Doc Mghee.”

Well, that certainly peaked her interest, and Holland was suddenly wide awake. Though she had known Doc for years, he rarely called for a chat, which could only mean one thing; he had a job for her. “Doc, good to hear from you,” she responded warmly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

It had been a year or so since Holland had last spoken to the infamous manager. He had been a close friend of her Father’s before he passed away, and had been the one to help her break into the music industry when she was a mere eighteen years old. That had been five years ago; and Holland was eternally grateful. She owed a massive amount of her success to Doc. “Tell me,” he said, “how soon are you able to get to LA?”

Holland raised an eyebrow at the question even though Doc couldn’t see her. “Doc, if I’m going to make a trip to LA, I should know what it’s about.”

Doc chuckled. “I’m getting to it. I’ve found you a band.”

“Oh yeah?” Holland had expected that, of course. She balanced the phone between her ear and her shoulder and reached over to her dresser to fish for a notebook and pen. “And… what band might this be?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Doc chuckled again, and Holland didn’t like the way he seemed to be deliberately avoiding answering her question. “But just hear me out, alright? I think this might be just the challenge you’ve been looking for.”

Holland felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Part of her thought she knew exactly who had had in mind, and he was right; she didn’t like it. “...Go on,” she pressed him after a moment.

Doc chuckled for a third time. He sounded unmistakably nervous. “Motley Crue.”

For a moment, Holland was silent as she digested this information, and then she laughed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Holly-”

“Are you crazy? Doc, you seriously want me to fly all the way out to LA to be their PR manager? That’s career suicide!”

“Holly,” he went on pleadingly, “these boys need help. If anyone can sort out their shit-show of a public image, it’s you. They’re on the verge of real success here, but my God, their image has got to be fixed. They need you, Holly. Just come to one show. If you think they’re beyond help, I’ll pay for your flight back. But just give them a chance. These kids need some sense talking into them and they don’t listen to me.”

“Kids?” Holland scoffed. “They’re not kids, they’re grown ass men!”

“Look, the choice is yours,” Doc sighed heavily, “can I expect to meet you at the airport or not?”

“Dammit Doc…” she groaned loudly, making it very clear to him exactly how she felt. “Fine. I’ll catch the next flight out.”

Holland heard Doc cheer. “Holland Van-Ness, you are a star!”

The line went dead as Doc hung up. That time, it was Holland’s turn to sigh. She’d heard stories about Motley Crue that were rivalled only by her nightmares. In the six months since they’d debuted, they’d singlehandedly caused more problems than any other band Holland had managed, and she had had to put up with some serious shit. From their very first gig, Holland had decided they were trouble, and she had sworn to herself that she was not going to get involved with them or any other band like them. Apparently, that was not a promise she was going to be keeping.

Holland padded sleepily into the bathroom, where she lingered for a moment to brush her teeth and pull a comb through her hair. She paused by the sink to take a good luck at her reflection. She looked a damn sight better than she had done five minutes ago, but there was an emotion in her eyes that Holland didn’t immediately recognize. She realised after a moment, that it was fear.

She drew in a shaky breath. When she told Doc working with Motley was career suicide, she hadn’t been joking, and that thought scared her more than anything. If she didn’t have her job, what did she have?

She rushed back into her bedroom where she dressed quickly and threw a few essentials into a small suitcase. Anything else she needed, or had forgotten, she supposed she could buy once she landed in LA. Holland had worked with a menagerie of bands; from small, local acts to headlining musicians. She had helped all of them maintain a fairly respectable public image. But now, in the cab on her way to the airport to meet Motley freakin’ Crue, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was completely out of her depth.

She made her way through customs fairly quickly and within the hour, found herself in a less than comfortable aisle seat on a four hour flight from Miami to LA. That sinking feeling remade its home in her stomach as the plane started its ascension, and Holland found herself gripping the arm rest, so tightly her knuckles strained white against her skin. She was at least comforted by the thought that when she inevitably wanted to return home, she wouldn’t have to pay for the flight.

As the plane made its way through the sky towards LA, Holland tried to catch up on the sleep that Doc had so cruelly taken from her but it was nearly impossible over the roar of the engines and her own feelings of anxiety, and so eventually, she gave up and resigned herself to watching the clouds whizz by the window. Before she knew it, LA was upon her, and she found Doc waiting for her by the luggage claim.

When she saw her old family friend, all her frustration momentarily drained away and she embraced him in a tight, if not brief, hug. “It’s good to see you, Holly,” he told her with a smile.

“And you!” She said. She looked anxiously over his shoulder, expecting to see the band stroll through the duty free stores towards them. “They’re not joining us?” She asked him.

“Relax,” Doc assured her quickly, “they’re not here. I thought you’d want to get some brunch and get settled in first.”

Holland smiled weakly, reassured. “That sounds great.”

She collected her suitcase and allowed Doc to carry it out to the cab for her. She could have carried it herself given that it wasn’t too heavy, but she was exhausted after her busy morning, and was secretly grateful for his help. When they got into the back of the cab, Doc looked as though he was going to start with some pleasantries, but when he turned to Holland and saw the look on her face, he knew she was ready to talk business. He could tell she had a lot of questions, and motioned for her to start.

“Alright,” she said, folding her hands casually on her lap, “first and foremost, where am I going to be staying? You didn’t mention a hotel or anything in your phone call.”

Doc grimaced and didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. “Once again,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “you’re not going to like it.”

Holland’s face fell a mile. “Doc…” she deadpanned, “tell me I’m not going to be staying with them.” She looked at him intently but Doc said nothing, which only confirmed her fears. “Are you serious, Doc?” She asked him furiously, “working with them is going to be bad enough!”

“The money’s not bad,” he reminded her, hoping to diffuse the situation but she only scoffed.

“Yet clearly not good enough to buy me a hotel room,” she scowled. “Why the hell do I have to stay with them?”

“Holly, these boys aren’t like anyone you’ve ever worked with before,” Doc told her. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder with them than you have with any other band. You’re going to need them to trust you, Holly. And this is the way to do that.” He gave her a look that Holly recognized and understood almost instantly. It was the same pleading look her Father used when he wanted her to cooperate.

Even so, she groaned loudly. “Alright, fine,” she relented. “I’ll stay with them.” She sighed, turning to look out of the window to avoid seeing the triumphant grin on Doc’s face. “So, what are they like?”

“They’re…” Doc trailed off. He glanced out of his own window, as though the street passing by would inspire him. “They’re a handful,” he settled on eventually, “self centered. Arrogant. But, they’re talented as Hell, and I think they’ve got it in them to be good kids. They just need a little push in the right direction.”

Holland hummed in acknowledgement. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t need to. A beeping sound came from Doc’s pocket. He sighed, pulling out the small pager. A scowl passed over his face.

“Aw, crap,” he mumbled, “sorry, Holly. We might have to put that brunch on hold.” He slipped the pager back into his pocket and fed another address to the cab driver, different to the one he had initially given.

“Why?” Holland frowned, “what’s happened?”

“What’s happened is you’re about to start your job a couple hours early,” he said grimly, “there’s been a fight.”

Holland found herself rolling her eyes. “Of course there has,” she grumbled, though she didn’t know why she was surprised. When working with Motley Crue, she should have expected nothing less.

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painted-crow · 3 years

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Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 1

I guess I should start with a little about me, since that’s easier than making you pick through previous asks for information and some of you guys are new here. This one’s going to be heavily personal, so you can skip it if you want.

I’m a double Bird. My Bird primary system is heavily Badger influenced, and I also use Lion to support it by telling me when I should investigate something more closely. If we can dip into primary territory for a moment, I guess you can say I understand the world through systems that model things around me. But not all of those systems are things I’ve consciously examined, or fully investigated.

My understanding of how historical people dressed is pretty limited, for example, because I haven’t studied it in depth to get all the information—but I consciously understand what I do know about it. You could say this system piece is tiny but clear; I could expand it if I chose to find out more.

My understanding of how someone I’m not close to thinks might have more data to work with, but I haven’t consciously processed it; that’s the kind of thing where my Lion primary model will tell me to look closer if that person starts acting weird. This system piece might be described as huge but fuzzy; I could clarify it if I sat down and thought about it. I probably have more of these than I realize, but Lion basically takes care of monitoring those. I don’t have to investigate everything.

But some of my systems are both large and fairly clear, because I’ve taken the time both to gather data on them and to examine it. My understanding of myself is… well, I won’t say it’s terribly clear, because I’m in my early twenties and I’m still constantly getting new information, plus someone keeps changing the environment and mucking with my data (that would be me). But I have to examine it, because my brain is like a notoriously buggy piece of software and I’m the poor schmuck saddled with tech support duties.

Basically, the reason I’m good at playing therapist with other people is that I’m constantly doing exactly that thing with myself. (This probably makes me a very annoying patient for actual therapists.)

About that buggy brain, then.

I have major depression. That was professionally diagnosed when I was a teenager and it’s probably genetic. I take medication for it, when I remember to. It especially flares up in the winter or when I’m under stress. I probably have some kind of anxiety disorder too.

I’m almost certainly autistic, which I’ve never brought up with a professional—the first person to figure it out was the system I’m now best friends with, because they’re autistic and they knew I was within two weeks of talking to me. It took me two years to catch up with them and figure it out myself.

In my defense, I thought executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, dissociation, and hyperempathy were like… secret menu items for depression, because those only really bug me during depressive episodes. My current theory is that they’re related to autistic burnout instead.

I mask a lot, subconsciously—it’s actually really hard to turn that off normally—and I just can’t do that as much when depressed. If I do, my tolerance for everything else goes way down and I’ll go into overwhelm and start having shutdowns and dissociating. I recover pretty quickly (hours, not days), but if you’ve never spent 15 minutes standing in a Walmart aisle trying to decide whether you want a jar of peanut butter, but you can’t make decisions because you can’t access your emotions and you don’t really feel like you’re “here” but you kind of just want to go home… well, be glad I guess.

Of course, I have other autistic traits that show up when I’m not under stress, but they’re seldom associated with autism because most people don’t know what autis are like when we’re actually happy. Like, hyperlexia? That’s not even an “official” word, the auti community just uses it because “official” literature hasn’t caught up. I taught myself to read at age three (according to my mom; she says I was reading news headlines and stuff, not just books I’d memorized) and wrote a 35k word novella when I was ten, with no external prompting. My audio processing used to be terrible, but I routinely tested at college age reading levels as a kid.

I also might have ADHD? If so, it’s also mostly just noticeable if I’m under stress, and then it’s hard to tell if that’s the issue or if it’s just autism/depression again.

You might be getting a clearer picture of how my secondary and its model end up burnt so often!

(Resisting a very strong urge to cut stuff from this post.)

In short, I was a Gifted Kid. I spent a lot of my teen years biting off more than I could chew, honestly. I felt that I should be able to do more, and I wanted to be taken seriously, but I had basically no idea how to take care of myself because my needs are different from everyone else’s. I’m still figuring those out.

I’m kind of like an orchid plant: incredibly picky about conditions, wants a different “soil” and watering schedule, gets stressed if stuff changes too quickly, but when everything is just right and it does bloom, it goes all out.

I’m not kidding when I say that I have odd needs. One of them is the need for creative work, which seems to be hardwired into me. When I say that art or writing keeps me sane, I often hear back “oh yeah! I’ve heard that can be very therapeutic,” which is an innocuous reply, but it’s always bugged me, and I think I’ve figured out why.

First, because that’s not the reason I make things… I just… have to. Second, I can’t “make up” not doing creative work with some other kind of therapy. Third and most importantly, I’d much rather think of “artist” as my ground state, and depression as a condition that happens when my needs aren’t being met, rather than thinking of depression as the default that I’m just using art to escape from. That seems to me a healthier way of thinking, and probably a more accurate one, but I’m probably the only one who can see that distinction.

If life gets in the way and I can’t make space for creative work, it will actively make my depression worse. I know this because, multiple times, I’ve been unable to pinpoint why I’m feeling shitty, and then I go back to my easel or my writing or (ukulele, cooking, even just taking care of houseplants) and realize I haven’t done anything creative in like a month and thaaaat’s the problem.

I crack open a bottle of gesso to prep some canvases and it smells like… well, I don’t think you can get high off gesso? But it’s not like when you’re out of it on painkillers or cold medicine or whatever. It’s incredibly grounding, like the world snaps back into focus but it’s also oddly euphoric. Or I write ten thousand words in a couple days and it just… I don’t know what that does. I’ve never run across a word for it.

The writer of Smile at Strangers (a really good memoir centered around women, anxiety, and karate) describes a similar feeling in relation to her martial arts practice.

It’s also a bit like when all the snow melts after winter and you step outside and there’s the smell of wet soil under sunlight and I’m not sure if this fully translates for people who don’t have seasonal depression. Sorry.

Dammit, I want to paint… I haven’t had space to set up for like eight months. I’ve been nose-deep in writing projects since last summer for a reason, but right now my friggin Ravenclaw secondary is off angsting about something because of Life Stress Bullshit, and I don’t have the focus to work on any of my writing projects. Apart from this one. But it’s not really what I want in terms of creative work.

*velociraptor screech*

Oh, yeah. I guess I could mention this is why my nickname is Paint. Not sure if that was obvious before. The header image (which is more visible in the app for some reason) is one of my paintings. It’s a tiny one and it’s not one of my favorites, but I had the photo on my phone and the colors work well enough for what I needed.

(restrains self from negging my own painting ability)

This is starting to get into spoiler territory for what burned Ravenclaw secondary looks like, huh? It’s peaced out for a couple weeks at this point. I’m trying to write about what made it take off, but my ability to think of words and form a coherent sentence kinda flew out the window when I approached it directly.

Let’s just say that around the start of the month, someone I was talking to online (if you’re reading this, it’s definitely not you) kindaaaa hit a nasty depression trigger of mine. Not their fault—it’s very specific to me, and I struggle to explain why I can’t really talk about it. Basically, I spent years studying programming and web design, and due to several different but related issues during that experience, it’s now a trigger for me. I very much want it not to be, but trying to train that out of myself has induced more than one panic attack and I’m stuck between giving up on it or figuring out a way to go back to it that doesn’t totally shut my brain down.

That paragraph took forever to write, by the way.

I think I have to end this here. I… am going to go take out the trash, and water my plants, and make my bed, and file some paperwork, and maybe I’ll even mix up some bread dough or do some laundry. Spoiler alert for what it looks like when my Hufflepuff model takes over, I guess.

Oh. And I should maybe probably eat something. I almost forgot about that... again.

#sortinghatchats #time to overshare on the internet i guess #secondary toast revolving door #mental health #burned ravenclaw secondary #hufflepuff secondary model #ravenclaw primary #paint speaks

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mi6-cafe · 4 years

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THESE ARE THE FINAL LDWS DRABBLES!

For the finale, we asked our competitors to write exactly 400 words in which they had to use the phrase “we aim to please”.

The did an excellent job so come read and vote and help us decide THE ONE DRABBLE WRITER TO RULE THEM ALL...

HOW DO YOU VOTE?

Read all the drabbles. (they’re below the line)

Choose three that you like the most.

Fill out this VOTING FORM, telling us your favourites. (You can even leave anonymous feedback for the author).

NOTE: If you are a competitor, you CANNOT vote for your own fic. But please, do vote. :)

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

Title: Live to Serve Author: sorion Warnings: alludes to the current political climate in the US (and to a lesser degree the UK) Summary: Bond completes objectives. How he completes them is up to him.

Bond barely batted an eye when his solitary corner of the bar he'd chosen was invaded by another patron with his own drink.

"Felix," he greeted him.

"James. What a surprise."

Bond's smirk widened. "Tell the truth. You knew I was in the States the moment I set foot on the ground."

Felix's lip twitched sardonically. "When you got on the plane to come here."

Bond chuckled.

"I've learned that it pays to keep track of your movements." He tilted his head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just in case."

"I'd be insulted if I didn't do the same thing with you."

They grinned at each other wordlessly and returned to their drinks.

"So," Felix interrupted their companionable silence. "What brings you here?"

"Is that American for, 'What havoc can I expect you to wreak on my home turf'?"

Felix pretended to consider that. "Sounds about right."

Bond's amused eyes wandered to the muted news on the television in the corner of the bar and darkened. "Not as much havoc as I'd like to wreak."

Felix followed his line of sight. "Tell me about it," he agreed. Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and added in a chatty tone, "What's your people's stance on overthrowing foreign governments, these days?"

Bond, fortunately, wasn't swallowing at that moment, or he would have choked on it. It still took all his not inconsiderable self-restraint to not laugh out loud. "Overthrowing governments of allies is sadly frowned upon." He pondered that for a second. "Yours?"

"Same." He leaned closer. "Any orders to such an effect, regardless?" he asked carefully.

Bond shook his head. "More's the pity. I live to serve, and I serve by completing objectives." He squinted at Felix. "How I complete them is my prerogative, however."

Felix nodded slowly, indicating that he was operating similarly.

"What I'd like to do," Bond continued, his lethal eyes on the news, "would be like trying to put out a fire with nitro-glycerine, so I was thinking something more subtle."

"Mhm..." Felix hummed, his voice thrumming with satisfaction. "Subtle is not quite your thing."

Bond's shark-like smile was all teeth. "I know a guy..."

"Smart, dark-haired, gorgeous, can kill from his bed in his pyjamas?" Felix guessed.

They shared a look like two bloodhounds catching a scent.

Felix held out his hand.

Bond took it.

"We live to serve. We aim to please."

Title: An Assist Author: Anyawen Warnings: Summary: Bond learns that he's been equipped with an unlooked-for advantage.

Bond paused, studying the bullet he was loading into his spare clip. There were scratches on the base of the casing. That was decidedly odd. Q would never send out ammunition with any sort of flaw that could impair its use, or worse, damage the gun — or the agent using it. He ran a finger over the base but couldn't detect the scratches. Turning it in his hands he looked again. Definitely there. And, he checked, also on all the other bullets in the clip. The chance of a bad bullet from Q-branch was staggeringly small, but not zero. The chance of an entire bad batch escaping notice, however, could be measured in negative numbers. If Q sent these bullets out into the field, then these marks were meant to be there. There must be a reason for them. There was something niggling at him. He’d seen this pattern of scratches before. He glanced over at his Walther. Picking it up he peered at it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. Ah. There it was. On the back of the trigger was a faint glimmer of markings. ... .||. .|.. .| |.|. . .|. . ... | ..| |.. . || ..| ... It took him a minute to recognize that the lines were dashes among a smattering of dots. After that realization the letters came easily. "placere studemus" Translating the Latin took slightly longer. A moment later he tapped his ear and heard the faint ambient sounds of Q-branch through the earwig. "Do you require assistance, 007?" Q asked. "Interesting numbers in your annual report." "Focus on the mission, Bond. We can discuss— " "Decreased stray bullet injuries on ops over the last year, but no noticeable increase in range scores," Bond continued, speaking over Q. "True." "We're hitting our targets more often without actually being better shots." "An impressive feat." "Very. I've not seen magic like it since my gran passed." "I- What?" "She was a hedge witch." "Oh. Are you ..." "No," Bond replied as he finished loading the clip. "Can't sense or cast magic. Recognized the marks as spellwork, though. Nice work. You're some sort of technomage?" "Something like that." "And the spell?" "Merely an assist." "An effective one." "Thank you." "Just one thing, Q." "Yes?" "Is that phrase really the best anchor you could come up with?" "Well. You can't deny it's apropos. After all, 'we aim to please.'”

Title: Marketing Research Author: stormofsharpthings Warnings: sex? Summary: Bond discovers what Q Branch has been working on lately

“Well, well, Quinn.”

As Bond dropped the gunmetal grey box next to his laptop, Q felt a cold shudder spill down his spine. There were still a few secrets he’d managed to keep from his lover, though apparently he now had one less. “You should never have been able to access that part of the lab.”

“Mmm, so I was informed. Top Secret. I had to be quite persuasive. An interesting project though, Quinn.”

Q fought down a surge of jealousy at the thought of what that persuasion might have been. “You know that’s not my real name, it’s just a joke amongst the techs.” He crossed his arms in irritation. “Dammit, James, you were snooping! This prototype was meant to be a birthday surprise.”

“It’s certainly surprising.” Bond’s finger traced the embossed lettering lovingly. “And not at all an exploding pen, which I was rather expecting. However did you get this past the projects committee?”

Q sighed. “Given the proclivities of double-ohs, it was an easy sell as a test product. A quite unexpected way to deliver drugs or implant trackers, should the need arise.”

“The box is a bit of a giveaway, though, don’t you think? The logo is literally a Q with a tree branch entwined.”

“That’s not the final packaging! They were just having a bit of a joke!”

Bond raised an eyebrow as he opened the box, stroking a finger delicately over the contents. Q felt a twitch of reluctant arousal as he watched those so very precise fingertips linger on certain details.

“So delightfully unexpected, Q,” James purred as he picked up the creamy vellum card inside. “‘Quinn’tessential Ecstasies,” he read aloud. “Is all of Q Branch so prone to puns and in-jokes?” He smirked and dropped the card back into the box. “But don’t you think ‘We Aim To Please’ is a bit on the nose for a gun-shaped dildo?” James chuckled, picking it up and fondling it in a way that made Q’s trousers just a little more snug.

Q glared. “As if subtlety is your strong suit.”

James laughed wickedly. “I’m quite impressed with the trigger-activated vibrations. Whatever made you think of this?”

“It seemed natural, since an exploding pen is out of the question in the bedroom, and you do have a rather unhealthy attachment to your Walther.”

“It needs testing. And since you present such a tempting target, Q…”

Title: Double, Double, Toil and Trouble Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: On an undercover mission, Bond considers the merits of murdering customers.

“Is the hazelnut syrup sugar-free?”

Bond bit back a sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Only the cinnamon and vanilla syrups are sugar-free.”

It wasn’t the stupidest question in the world, but this had been going on for five minutes. Or maybe three. It felt like five hours.

First, it had been “what’s the difference between a latte and a flat white?” Which… fair enough. He’d had to quickly remember his crash course in coffee-making to bullshit an explanation without saying “the flat white is cheaper but costs more.”

Then, it was “why does the oat milk have a surcharge but the soy milk doesn’t?” prompting a lesson in the economics of non-dairy milk alternatives all the while considering drowning his customer in said soy milk.

So: not the stupidest question in the world, but quite possibly the stupidest customer.

“I’ll have a cappuccino.”

Seriously?

“Was that with soy milk?”

“Oh no, just regular milk’s fine.”

How was this his life?!

“Syrup?”

“No, thanks.”

He could feel his molars grinding with the force of his fake smile. Five minutes! For nothing!

“And what name is it?”

“Karen.”

Of course it was.

He had been stuck in this god-forsaken job for three weeks, and was seriously weighing the pros and cons of ‘accidentally’ causing an explosion. Things like that happened, right? He could probably get away with it

“No, you can’t kill her.”

Bond stifled a groan. Bad enough that he was stuck undercover as a bloody barista in Canada, without having Q in his ear all day judging his latte art and thwarting his murder plans. It turned out the Quartermaster was the bloody customer service police.

“I would never,” he muttered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. The last thing he needed was for his temporary “colleagues” to overhear him talking to thin air.

“Of course not. Just like you’d never feed your gun to a komodo dragon.”

“You know damned well that was an accident,” he whispered, sprinkling cocoa powder through a bloody maple leaf stencil. “How much longer, Q?”

Q just hummed apologetically.

Straightening his shoulders and pasting another ‘friendly’ smile on his face, Bond handed over the drink.

“Well, at least you’re generous with the cocoa.”

“Fuck you, Karen.”

“We aim to please. Enjoy your drink.”

Bond wondered whether he could talk Q into blowing the place up after all.

Title: Distraction Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: paranoia can be a healthy attitude around some people

As a rule, Q always was rather suspicious of quiet - whether that was a side effect of working in espionage or just his nature, he wasn't particularly sure but he knew better than wasting too much brainpower on such considerations. Besides, a healthy dose of paranoia always paid off if the feeling was carefully kept on a leash. Hand going to grab his taser, Q entered the bedroom and his eyes immediately zeroed in on his lovers "What are you doing?" "Who - us?" James inquired with a shiteating grin, dramatically pointing at his own chest "Man of little faith" Q gestured at Raoul, lounging against the bed post "At least he has the decency to not try to fool me" he pointed out as he relaxed in increments, tension gradually leaving his body as he made his way to the bed to sit at its foot "So?" "What makes you think we are up to anything?" The younger man batted James' hand away from his calf "You always are up to something when you're quiet: it's not like either of you" Raoul's chuckle was satiny and dark - if Q hadn't found it ridiculous to compare a sound to food, his mind would have probably come up with some kind of stupid similitude involving a rich, dark chocolate cake "We aim to please, mi querido" "That awfully sounds like an admission of guilt" "Maybe" Raoul leaned over, finger tapping the point of the other's nose just to see the way it would scrunch up at the bothersome gesture "But who says I feel guilty about any of it?" Taking advantage of Q's distraction, their lover clearly too busy - and failing at - glaring Raoul into properly confessing, James wrapped his hand around his ankle and tugged firmly, a delighted chuckle escaping his lips at the little shriek Q let out "Let's talk about it later" he murmured, bending down to brush their lips together "There's funnier things to do" "Just tell me the place isn't gonna get swarmed by whatever international agency might be thirsting for our heads" Raoul palmed his cheek, gently turning his head to meet his eyes "I promise" Q sighed, eyes rolling even as he reached for the nape of the other's neck while he sneaked a foot between James' legs "Fine, but don't you think you can postpone this conversation for much longer" "Wouldn't dream of it"

Title: Souvenirs Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: mild BDSM themes Summary: Bond likes giving Q souvenirs of his travels.

Q examined the box squatting in the center of his desk, a cardboard enigma with a security clearance tag. The shipping label indicated it had originated from Elko, Nevada. Q closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The only agent recently conducting operations in the US was Bond. The joint operation between the CIA and MI6 focused on an information dealer selling military secrets from both Britain and the US. Bond had been pleased to be working with his old friend Felix Leiter. Q had been entertained by Bond and Leiter as the pair entered what Felix had described as a legal brothel.

Bond: “Only in America.” Bond's voice held a hint of astonishment. “All that neon makes my eyes water.”

Leiter: “Ah yes, one stop shopping for a certain type of client.”

Bond: “Felix. They have a gift shop. The souvenirs must be epic.”

Successful, Bond had returned and this had appeared. Q looked at the box reproachfully. Bond and his souvenirs. Being romantically involved with the man had only increased his penchant for gifting Q with odd objects. He carefully slit the tape and opened the flaps, prodding carefully at the packing peanuts. The first item was a six pack of seasonings and sauces intended for American style barbecue. Unusually practical. He resolved to investigate how to use them as he placed the jars on the shelf behind him and dug further. His fingers encountered a narrow object that flexed a bit as he removed it. He flushed with embarrassment although he was alone in the office as he withdrew a riding crop in a rather nice leather finish with the initials MHHP stamped on the handle in gold. He gave it an experimental swing, neatly sending a packing peanut flying. Digging produced a final item. He shook out the tee shirt, and read the logo that explained it all. 'Madame Helga's House of Pain, Barbecue Joint, and Rifle Range' was displayed across the front. The back had an image of an androgynous figure with a bullseye painted on it's pert derrière and the legend, 'We aim to please'. His phone pinged and he checked the text. Bond had sent a video which proved to be a short loop of the neon display at Madame Helga's featuring an animated dominatrix landing a crop in the center of the bullseye. The text accompaniment said, 'Care to provide a target, darling?'

Title: Timing is Everything Author: Iambid (Flantastic) Warnings: None Summary: James needs a new hobby.

YOU'RE EARLY AGAIN, said the Grim Reaper, with a hint of surprise.

“I am?” James asked, sounding a lot calmer than he currently felt.

He looked around himself. He’d been in Saudi Arabia, on the trail of an assassin, when everything had gone to hell. He’d been captured, beaten, tortured and then dumped in the middle of nowhere, somewhere south of Ash Shalfa. The last thing that he remembered was lying broken and bloody in the burning desert, baking under the merciless sun.

Now it appeared he was in a wood-panelled office, not unlike the one that M used.

Except M’s had never had a skeleton dressed in a black robe sitting at its desk. Well. As far as James knew.

YOU KEEP DOING THIS, Death said, shuffling through the thick paper file in front of him. Her. It. Whatever.

“I do?” James asked, still not entirely sure he knew what was going on.

MMMMM. AGED TEN, FELL HEAD-FIRST OUT OF A TREE. AGED TWENTY-ONE. GOT INTO A FIGHT ON THE HMS ALBION, PUSHED OFF THE FLIGHT-DECK INTO THE ADRIATIC SEA. AGED FORTY-TWO, SHOT OFF A NINETY-EIGHT METRE BRIDGE BY A… Death paused, bringing the page closer to their face. They seemed to squint, which wasn’t bad going for a skull … IT SAYS A ‘FRIEND’.

“That would be Moneypenny.” James explained.

THERE ARE COUNTLESS INCIDENTS LIKE THIS. NEED I GO ON?

“I shouldn’t think so.” James admitted.

COME WITH ME, Death commanded. They rose, and floated towards the door. James obediently followed them. The door opened and on the other side, they found themselves in a hospital room. The occupants didn’t seem to notice.

YOU SEEM TO THINK THAT RESURRECTION IS A HOBBY. IT ISN’T. DESPITE YOUR BEST EFFORTS, I SIMPLY CAN’T TAKE WHAT ISN’T MINE YET.

James stepped forward and saw that he was the man in the bed and the man in the chair next to him, the man pressing tearful kisses to the back of his bandaged hand, was Q.

YOU BELONG TO HIM. HE’S WAITING FOR YOU TO LOVE HIM. YOU’LL BE MINE ONCE YOU’VE GIVEN HIM A LONG HAPPY LIFE.

James jerked awake, his body suddenly screaming out with a hundred injuries. He gasped but Q was there, soothing him, calming him. He squeezed his hand and Q smiled.

“You saved me.” He croaked.

“Smart blood. Latest tech. We aim to please.” Q replied.

Title: The Problem With Retirement Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: retirement or reunion

The diner was full of quiet little noises this late at night. Silverware clinking, a pen scratching across a booklet of crossword puzzles, tired sighs of the late-night drivers, and in the corner a booth full of a tired family. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snap of chewing gum and their waitress’s voice drew him out of his musings. “Welcome to the Georgia Peach, we aim to please. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.”

A long-suffering sigh blew out of the wide mouth that had been until then, pinched tight in annoyance. “Just coffee for him.”

The waitress was a behemoth of a working professional, much like Bond, and simply offered Q a wide smile, showing just a hint of gold at the edges. “And for his lordship?”

Bond answered for him. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”

“Okay, one coffee and hot tea for His Lordship.” She winked at Q and spun on her heel.

Q’s folded his hands under his chin and studied Bond for the minutes it took for their waitress to bring back a carafe of coffee, a mug of hot water on a saucer, and a pathetic excuse for a teabag.

Bond sipped at his coffee as he watched the disgust crawl across Q’s perfect, bony little face. He missed that face.

“Enough. Why am I here and why are you bleeding?”

“Am I bleeding?” Bond reached under his jacket, his fingers came away wet and red. “Huh, thought it was ketchup.”

“You’re supposed to be in the middle of Jamaica. Retired.”

“You could say that. I need your help. Madeline needs your help”

Q stared long and hard at Bond. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. Running off with her, abandoning m...MI6 taking the car-” He broke off his tirade when Bond reached forward and laid his hand on his, blood smearing along the pale skin.

Q’s eyes focused on the blood.

“I never said WE retired together. She’s been a good neighbor, a good friend. That’s all. She still had her secrets. They found her. Whoever THEY are and she needs your help.” Bond curled his fingers under and gripped Q’s hand tightly.

Q made a weak attempt to look away. His eyes stuttered back when Bond’s finger brushed across his wrist and gave an answer Q was not expecting.

“Oh, how I missed you, Q.”

Title: Improvisation Author: AtoTheBean Warnings: None Summary: Turn-about is… unpleasant.

He nurses a scotch and watches the mark, Jason Abernathy, at a table in the corner. Businessman. Mid-40s. On his third round, a group of beautiful people laughing at his jokes. He’s ignoring the dance floor, despite the urging of the blonde at his table. And he’s noticed Bond watching, but hasn’t approached him. Another agent is on her way as back-up. Perhaps she’ll be more to his taste. Bond turns the card over in his fingers “Discreet Escorts: We aim to please!” It’s not subtle, but it has a certain charm. If it were just a high-end escort business, he wouldn’t be here. But if it’s a quasi-legal front for a human trafficking ring... “007?” R asks. Bond raises his drink to his lips. “Hmmm?” “Change of plans.” Bond surveys the room, waiting for clarification. It comes in the form of Q wearing skinny jeans and a tight purple shirt. Q smiles flirtatiously and moves around Bond so his back is to the mark. “New intel. 003 won’t be to his taste either. We had to improvise.” “Improvise?” “Reject me,” Q whispers. “Loudly.” Bond glances at the mark and sees his gaze fixed on Q’s arse. “You’re not what I want,” Bond shouts, pushing Q away. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand. “Is there a problem?” Jason asks, sliding in beside Q. Q levels a dazzling smile at him. “No problem. My new employer sent me to a potential client, and I’m not what he wants.” “Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Who’s your employer?” Q hands him a card just like Bond’s. “Oh, I am. Shall we see how well you take our motto to heart?” Jason leads Q to the dance floor. Bond is forced to watch them “dance” for ten minutes, until it’s really just grinding and snogging. They pass him again on the way to the loo, and Bond feels something heavy drop into his pocket. Jason’s phone. Bond moves to the door. “I have it.” “And the drive?” R asks. “Inserting now.” Within minutes, the data has been retrieved and Q’s bug is installed. Bond wanders back in the bar, dismayed to see Q is still missing. “He’s fine,” R assures. Bond doesn’t like it. He heads down the hall to the loo, placing the phone on the seat the mark vacated as he passes. The door is locked. “Stand down, 007.” He orders another drink and waits.

#10

Title: Echoes Author: Shush_MummyWriting Warnings: None. Summary: Five + One. Bond hearing echoes.

Bond was surprised at how relaxing it was at Q’s parents’ house. It was filled with homely touches, photos of Q and his brothers through the years, plants and knick-knacks on the shelves. There was even a hand stitched frame in the downstairs bathroom that declared “In this house, we aim to please. In this room, you aim too, please!”. It felt like a home.

It was the second fitting for Bond’s latest suit. The tailor was a genius, the way he managed to conceal the gun holster. “Anything else, Mr. Bond?” he asked. “Perhaps a touch longer in the sleeve.” Bond replied. “Of course sir, we aim to please after all.” Bond smiled.

Bond was actually using his office, studying for his upcoming mission. Eve sauntered in, perched on the edge of his desk and asked, “How much do you love me?” dangling an envelope between two manicured fingers. “It depends on what that is.” said Bond, taking it. “Travel documents where I, your best friend, have managed to secure first-class tickets for your Brazil flights.” “Thank you!” said Bond, who detested long hours in cattle class. As Eve strolled out of the office, she tossed over her shoulder “We aim to please!”.

As Bond entered the R&D department, he was met with the sight of Alec, waving a brochure in the direction of Q, who appeared to be ignoring him. “Seriously Q, just have a look at these specifications. It would be an asset. And it looks awesome! Did you see the clever headline for it?” Q grabbed the brochure, exclaiming “That headline alone is reason enough NOT to buy it. What kind of company would market a rifle sight with the motto “We Aim to Please!” Seriously! Now away with you, I have work to do.” and gestured Bond forward.

Q went over each piece of equipment, saving the best for last. “This is simple, press the top three times quickly, jam it into the keyhole and step back.” Bond took it with a look of wonder “Q, you’ve made me an exploding pen!” Q’s blush was adorable as he muttered “We aim to please.”

Bond settled his breathing, sighting on his target. It should have been an impossible shot - the distance, the weather, etc but between his skill and Q's equipment, another minor government official/major crime lord met his fate. "We aim to please." Bond muttered.

#11

Title: Flirting With the Wild Cat Author: scarytheory Warnings: angst Summary: Moneypenny has a secret.

We aim to please.

There are new documents on her desk, and she's feeling sick to her stomach.

Oh yes. We do.

They met when she was still a field agent.

“Miss Moneypenny.”

“Miss Galore.”

It would have been a standard honeypot mission if they didn't hate each other instantly. But there was something they needed, so they flirted, got drunk and angrily fucked on the balcony. In the end, Eve got the information and Pussy Galore didn't.

It should have ended there. But sometimes Mallory needed to contact Galore again, and Eve was the best agent for it – even after she became a secretary.

Eve honestly didn't mind; she loved a challenge, and Galore gave her just that. It was always a rush of emotions, it was hatred with a twist, a complicated game – who was better, smarter, wittier. The constant battle for dominance. Which was also a basis for incredible sex.

They started spending more time together, and suddenly they were laughing and talking about their lives. They didn't even need a mission for that – whatever that was. It didn't feel like they were enemies anymore.

Eve should have known better.

She never should have trusted her.

“You betrayed me.”

“And you are surprised, Moneypenny? This is what I do, what we do – me, you, all your agents and all my people. We aim to please, Eve. We were trained for it, we were trained to be horrible people. However, it’s our bosses we’re meant to please first and foremost. We're fucked up and you know it. There is no way you could disobey an order from M and I have my duties as well.”

“I would never use you.”

Except she already had. But that was before the laughter, before... everything.

“Honestly, did you believe that there was some miraculous happy ending for us? We are the same and yet different; a heroine and a villain. You should be glad it’s ending only in heartbreak and not with death.” She always loved big words and big speeches.

“I hate you, Galore.”

“Oh, but you don't, darling. That's the problem.”

And now Eve's sitting at her desk and staring at the documents. 007 got a new job. Eliminate a target who is no longer useful to them.

Yet, there is still time to warn her.

We aim to please. Until we don't.

#12

Title: A Pizza Pie Author: Ksan ( @starrboned-art ) Warnings: None Summary: Bond and Q are having a quiet afternoon together.

"James, that is not - stop that!" Q grabbed James' wrist before he could pour the sauce on the pizza dough.

"Q, that's how I’ve always made pizza." James gave his wrist an experimental wiggle, but the boffin was holding tight, eyes daring him to move.

"You need to oil the edges first," Q insisted, waving the brush and splashing oily drops everywhere.

James conceded, if only to not get his dark blue shirt stained.

"As you say, chef." James smirked, setting the hot pan aside. Q gave the dough a quick brush, nodding at James. "Now you can pour the sauce."

"Yes, chef."

"Stop it," Q said with a huff, but James spotted a quirk to his lips as he turned to the counter. A few plates laid ready with sliced vegetables and meats, all waiting to be added to the pizza.

"Just make sure that the champignons won't touch my side of the pizza." James scowled at the innocent white mushrooms.

Q gave him a smirk. "You are very particular about your food."

"I have a very particular taste," James countered with a suggestive smile. Q laughed, turning to put the pizza into the oven. James managed to steal a few sliced cherry tomatoes from Q's pile before he got caught.

"Go get the wine," Q said, "I'll get the glasses."

"So bossy today," James smirked, ruffling Q's curls. He escaped into the sunlit living room before Q could swat at him with a towel.

It was late noon on a Saturday, and for once none of them had any world-dooming emergencies to solve. The cats were basking in the late sun, the curtains swayed slightly as the evening breeze blew through the open windows.

James opened a red shiraz with a pop. With the wine ready on the table, he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet rustle Q made in the kitchen.

"Double-o agent, falling asleep?" Q's hand snuck around his waist, chin peeking over his shoulder.

"Before dinner?! You know agents, Q - we aim to please," James turned, kissing Q's smile. He had tomato sauce on his cheek, which James licked (to Q's astonished laughter).

"Pleasing will have to wait for later," Q purred, shoving the wine glasses at James. "What should we toast to?"

James swirled his wine, a habit born out of years of fine dining.

"To more sunny afternoons together."

#13

Title: game Author: azure7539 Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Hide and seek as usual, but it's interesting all the same. Just another day at work.

Nausea roils like a particularly stormy sea in the midst of a hurricane, and all he can hear is the whistling of his own breathing as his throat wheezes around air before it rattles into his ribcage and never truly fills up those burning lungs.

He’s been running for so long, he can no longer feel the screaming in his feet.

The throng of people felt like a good idea at first, a thick crowd celebrating some local holiday, but now every face seems suspicious, every pair of eyes lingering on just a tad too long. The enemies can be anywhere, can be anyone.

Vertigo dips his world as he crashes into a phone booth, thinking, assuming, he’s managed to put decent distance between him and his chasers, spare change clinking as the coins spill from his shaking hands.

Fuck. Fuck, what’s the number again…

Eight, five, three, two—

The line rings. Once. Twice.

“Hello,” a posh voice he’s never heard before picks up, nonchalant and indifferent. “Identification, please.”

“S-SPCTR-6304,” he nearly trips on his own tongue saying the words.

“One moment.” Soft typing filters through, the calmness perforating through the mad chaos in his mind. But adrenaline licks at his heels—he’s finally standing still long enough to feel the way how wracking tremors are seizing up his overtaxed muscles—and he wants to scream and vibrate out of his skin.

His instincts are shouting at him to start running again, to keep at it until he finds a trustworthy point of contact, something more than just another voice on the other side of a line.

But that’s the thing. This ‘voice on the other side of a line’ is one of his last remaining trustworthy points of contact. The rest are just… gone.

Someone shrieks from over where the people have gathered at the end of the alley, and he’s one hair’s breadth away from slamming back into the wall.

His heart is beating too fast.

“Ah, Mr Roswell. Good to hear from you again,” the person says, pleasantly. A pause. “Did you enjoy your final game?”

“What—”

“At MI6, we aim to please, after all,” the voice drops into a low baritone. Dangerous.

Like the monsters of his nightmares culminating into one singular point of existence.

The last thing he sees before life drains from him are twin pools of glacier. As blue and unreachable as the sky above.

___

You wonderful LDWS writers, you! Thank you so much for writing us these!

And thank you, readers, for reading and voting! THANK YOU!

#ldws #james bond #james bond fanfiction #drabbles #writing challenge

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multifandomwriter56 · 4 years

Text

Freaks of Nature Come Together: Chapter 1

Summary: Y/n was born on Earth; but it was never really home. Day in and day out people treat her like a freak. She’s a weapon to them, a blood sample once a week, nothing more. One day, she runs into trouble and somehow she teleports herself to another world. There she meets a Witcher, a freak like her. He promises to get her back to the world that hates her; but she’s not sure she wants him to keep that promise.

Characters: Teen!Reader, Geralt of Rivia, and other characters in later chapters

Warnings: language, small amount of violence, there is a scene at the beginning where a man is trying to force himself on the reader (I don’t go into detail but please skip if it’s a trigger, I don’t want to hurt anyone), there’s talk of abuse, talks about experimenting on kids

A/N: I plan on posting a chapter once a week on Saturday’s. Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series.

Word Count: 2,581

"Don't let her escape! We need her DNA!"

Y/n's running as fast as she can as she swings her arm behind her back, commanding the human-sized containers to fall on their sides; forcing the guards to come to a halt. She does the same action again, only this time her arm is in front of her. The door breaks free from its hinges and goes flying behind her.

She smirks when she hears a thud and a cry of pain. Two more doors and she’s home free.

“Ahh!” She cries out when something hard smacks the side of her head. The pain brings her to her knees.

She looks around for her attacker, ignoring her blurry vision. She comes face to face with a man she would rather never see again.

“Boss says we need your DNA; said nothing about you being alive to get it.”

Y/n can feel her whole body shaking, all she can think about is that she needs to get out of here now.

As the man rests the barrel of his gun on her temple, Y/n closes her eyes.

When a full minute passes, she opens her eyes; wondering if she is dead. She frowns at the scene before her. There are six men with swords and one with a crossbow standing a few feet in front of her.

“How the hell did I get here?”

“Don’t move, witch; or I’ll shoot you where you stand." The man with the crossbow shouts.

“Witch?” Y/n murmurs to herself.

“Don’t even think about trying to put a curse on my men.” Another man growls as he places his sword to her neck.

“A curse? I’m not a fucking witch, you dumbass.”

“Oh, the little witch has a mouth on her. So disrespectful. Let’s see how disrespectful that mouth is after it tastes my cock.”

Y/n eyes widen as the man starts to pull the string that is keeping his trousers up. “No. Don’t touch me!” She clamps down on her screams as the man grabs her neck.

“Let her go.”

The men laugh at whoever spoke while Y/n tries to see where the angry growl came from.

“And what are you going to do, Witcher? There’s no monster here for you to kill.”

“The way I see it, there are in fact, seven monsters I need to kill.”

The leader of the group releases Y/n and she immediately crawls away.

She watches in slight fear, slight fascination as the Witcher, whatever the hell that is, fights and wins against the bandits.

When the man turns his attention towards her, she stands to her feet; ready to defend herself if need be.

“It’s alright, I'm not going to harm you. My name’s Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

“What’s a Witcher?” Y/n blurts out before she can stop herself..

Geralt’s surprised by the question. There’s not many people who don’t know what he is. She is young, so maybe her folks haven’t told her any stories about them. "I kill monsters for a living. Usually doesn't include humans, but there's an exception to everything."

"I'm not a witch." Y/n felt the need to point that out.

"I know."

"Where am I?"

"Geralt frowns at the question but answers anyway. "You're a few miles outside of Crow's Perch. I can take you home, make sure you get there safely."

"Crow's Perch? I don't know where that is. What state are we in?"

"State?"

"Y/n bites her tongue to keep herself from yelling at the man. He did, afterall, just saved her life not ten minutes ago. "Okay, what country are we in?"

Geralt shakes his head. The girl is talking nonsense. "You're in the Continent." He tells her, hoping that would ease her anger.

Y/n snorts, her patience gone. "For a guy who can handle himself in a fight, you're fucking stupid."

"Watch it." Geralt growls, his own patience thinning.

"Where the fuck are we, man? I just want to go-" She sniffs away the tears. Does she really want to go home? "I am not going to cry." She mutters to herself.

"You're not from this world, are you?"

"Jesus!" Y/n shouts. She didn't even realize the man moved closer and is now only about a foot away from her.

"Who's Jesus?"

Y/n ignores his question, pretending it's not a red flag that she is, indeed, in another world. "Why would you say I'm from another world?"

"You don't smell like anything from this world."

Y/n blinks rapidly, processing his words. "Ookay; that didn't sound creepy at all." She may not be scared of this man, but that doesn't mean she trusts him.

"Why don't you tell me where you live and maybe I'll be able to point you in the right direction?" Geralt suggests, forcing his annoyance down.

Y/n opens her mouth to do just that, but closes it when she remembers the only home she knew betrayed her. Her life was hard, lonely, and uncaring. Why would she want to go back?

She shakes her head. "You know what, nevermind. I don't want to go back to that hellhole. Which direction is this Crow's Perch?"

Geralt's not sure what made the young girl change her mind. He's hoping she came to terms with being in a foreign land. "Roach and I are headed in that direction. You could travel with us "

"Roach!? Where?" Y/n immediately starts to search the ground for the dreaded insect.

Geralt's lips tug upwards as the girl starts to panic when she can't find the insect. He lifts his fingers to his lips, letting out a loud whistle. He watches as she steadies herself; ready to fight.

Y/n relaxes her arm muscles, letting her hands fall to her sides as a horse comes to a halt beside the man.

Geralt murmurs praises to the horse before focusing his attention on the stunned girl. "This is Roach."

Y/n narrows her eyes at the Witcher. "I'm so glad you were able to amuse yourself at my expense."

Any signs of amusement leaves the Witcher's face when he glances up at the sky. "We better make our way to town if we want to get there before dark."

Y/n shakes her head. “I’m exhausted. I’ll head towards town in the morning. Just point in the direction I need to walk. Five miles, right?”

Geralt frowns. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can hardly stand, let alone walk for five miles. Once I get some sleep, I’ll be good to go.” Y/n argues.

“Good thing I have a horse.”

Y/n shakes her head, taking a couple of steps back. “You can’t make me go with you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I can; and I will if you force my hand.”

The Witcher watches as the crossbow rises from the ground before the arrow is released, heading straight for his heart. He easily dodges the arrow; but not the sack of furs. It smacks him right in the face, knocking him on his back.

“What the fuck?” He sits up, searching for the girl. “Dammit!” He shouts when he notices the girl riding Roach, his horse, into the woods. “Can barely stand, my ass.”

***

Once Y/n believes she put a safe distance between her and the Witcher, she pulls on the reins until Roach comes to a stop. She dismounts, running her hand along the horse’s mane and neck.

“I guess I should let you get back to your owner. Who knows what they do to horse thieves in this world.” She holds her palm up, a light purple floating in her hand. “Find your owner.” She orders.

The horse immediately obeys, setting off towards the direction they came from.

“I hope you make it back to him safely.” She waits for the horse to disappear from her sight before focusing on how she’s going to survive the night.

Geralt curses for the umpteenth time as he slows down to a jog. The brat can ride.

He comes to stop when he hears a familiar sound. As the horse gets closer, Geralt hides; hoping it’s the girl with his horse.

When the horse with no rider comes to view, he steps out of his hiding spot, calling to Roach. He murmurs comforting words as he strokes her mane. “Easy girl, easy.” He sighs, his frustration clear. “Where did that girl go?”

He mounts the mare, hoping nothing’s happened to the child. The child that he doesn’t even know the name of.

It takes him about a half hour to find the girl. He can’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips at the sight before him.

Y/n had found some small rock and sticks so she could make spears. Once she had about a dozen spears, she spread them out except for one. That one stays in her fist, or at least on the ground right next to her. She then used the rest of the sticks to make a fire.

Geralt got as close as he dared before calling to the kid. He quickly moves his body behind a tree as a spear comes flying at his chest. “Come on, kid. I’m not going to harm you. I just want to help.”

Y/n’s not sure if she believes the man; but not only did he save her, but now he’s wasting his time tracking her down and making sure she’s okay… or he’s just that pissed about her taking his horse.

She slowly sets the floating spear down. “Are you going to hang me for stealing your horse?” She kept seeing images from westerns of men being hanged for stealing a horse.

“What? No, I’m not mad that you took Roach. Annoyed, yes.”

Y/n scoffs, not believing him. “Yeah, okay.”

Geralt slowly moves away from the tree so the girl can see him properly. “You were scared and you had no idea if you could trust me. You didn’t hurt Roach and you sent her back.” He guessed that last part. He has a feeling the chestnut mare didn’t just happen to find him on accident.

“I can influence animals.” She decided there was no harm in telling the Witcher her other gift. He already knew about her telekinetic abilities. “I told her to find you.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I figured you would give up on finding me if you had your horse back. Guess I was wrong.”

"Are you going to try and kill me if I come closer?”

Y/n fists clench at her sides, internally fighting with herself. She exhales, her body relaxing as she does. “No, but I will warn you; I have fast reflexes.”

Geralt swallows his chuckle. The kid’s got guts. It only takes him a few strides to make his way to the girl’s little camp. “What’s your name?” He asks, his curiosity done waiting.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” She offers her right hand.

Geralt takes the hand in his. “I have questions.”

Y/n releases his hand. “As do I.”

Geralt nods his head for her start.

“Y/n sits on a log she found and the Witcher follows her lead. “So this world, you call it the Continent?”

“Mhm.” Geralt nods. “Where are you from?”

“We call it Earth. Why do your eyes look like a cat’s?” Like the Witcher, Y/n couldn’t hold in her curiosity any longer.

Knowing this question would surface at some point, Geralt hides his annoyance. He knows the girl is not from this world, so there’s no point getting upset with her. “I was taken as a boy and put through the Witcher Trials. If you survive the trials, your body changes. Cat eyes are one of them. It helps me to kill monsters.”

“And by monsters, you mean?”

“Drowners, Hags, Wraiths, Ghouls, Werewolves-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. There are a lot of monsters in this world.” Y/n says through fits of laughter; trying to hide how scared she is at the thought of what this world is filled with.

“Are there any in your world?”

Y/n sobers at that question. “Only monsters in my world are humans.”

Geralt’s surprised when he feels anger rising in his chest at just thinking about anyone hurting this girl. He buries the feeling as he clears his throat. “Unfortunately, as you have seen, there are those types of monsters here as well.” The Witcher tilts his head as he asks his next question. “How old are you, Y/n?”

“Technically I’m fifty-four, but my body hasn’t aged since I was fifteen.”

“Is this normal in your world?”

Y/n scoffs. “No, I’m one of the few that have this ability. Like you, I was put through trials, but for different reasons. The children they would experimented on before me would die, so they worked out a way to change our bodies to be able to heal itself. Having this ability is what makes it hard for us to age.” Y/n frowns when the Witcher makes a noise of disbelief. “You don’t believe me?"

“I do. I thought it was going to be difficult to answer when you’d ask me how old I am.”

Y/n’s eyes narrow, wondering if he’s making fun of her. “And how old are you, Geralt?”

“A century.” He tells her bluntly.

Her jaw drops. “Are you shittin me?” When he shakes his head, Y/n laughs bitterly. “Guess fate fucked us both over.”

Geralt relaxes, glad the young girl is getting more comfortable in his presence. “Do you know how you teleported here? Did you use a portal?”

“I’m not sure. I do know it was something I did. I just don’t remember how I did it exactly. I tried to teleport myself earlier, but I passed out; too weak from the trip here I guess.”

“Maybe Yen could help this girl.” Geralt wonders. “I should take her to Kaer Morhen; keep her safe.”

“Hello? Geralt? Earth to Geralt.”

Geralt snaps out of his thoughts, frowning. “I would rather not go to your world. I’m already a freak in this one.”

Y/n giggles. “It’s just a saying. A phrase you say when someone zones out into their own head."

“Y/n, I think it would be wise if you traveled with me. I know a sorceress and I can take you to her. She might be able to help you harness the gift and you get you back home.”

Y/n tries not flinch at the word 'home'. “A sorceress?”

“Yes.” Geralt pauses, not sure how to tell the teenager this next part.

“I can take it.” Y/n’s seen that look more times than she can count.

“You’ll have to wait about three months. I was on my way to a place called Kaer Morhen when I found you the first time. It’s where us Witchers stay in the Winter. Not many monsters like the cold. No monsters means no coin which means no food or places to stay.”

Y/n takes a moment to think it over. She’s not even sure she wants to go home. Three months will give her time to make her decision. Also if the Witcher has a hard time surviving in his own world; she’ll probably die in a week.

“Okay. I can do that.”

#the witcher series #fonct ch1 #geralt x teen!reader #geralt x platonic!reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #teen!reader series

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rnufharose · 4 years

Text

Blood, Sweat, and Tears - Chapter 9

Words: 2.2k

Trigger Warnings: None

︻デ═一 ♥

He opened the door to the spare bedroom, pulling the curtains apart to allow the sunlight in. The bed was yet to be graced with sheets and a comforter and the empty closet will be out to good use once she arrived. Staying here would be for her protection, but he wasn't entirely sure how he would get her to come here. He knew with one look, she would be scared.

"Sehun-ah," Chanyeol stepped into the room and the younger male faced him. "So... she'll be using this room, huh?"

"She might as well," the raven-haired hitman shrugged. "Its the only room in this apartment that hasn't been touched since I moved here." He crossed his arms and sucked in a breath through his teeth, his face scrunched with perplexity. "Although... I'm not entirely sure how we'll get her to come here."

"Make an ad," Chanyeol suggested. "You're looking a renter. Once she sees the listing, she'll come here."

"But I don't want to lie to her," Sehun muttered, looking down, and Chanyeol tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, tilting his head.

"You know we've committed a lot more serious crimes than lying," he spoke solemnly. "And this is a kind lie. She'll know you're doing it for her own good..."

"I just don't want her to feel like a prisoner," He lifted his gaze, staring toward the other male with a frown. "She's been through enough already and she knows I'm around. That look on her face when she saw me... it still haunts me."

"I know," Chanyeol nodded in understanding. "But really, she'll be fine. If you're willing to protect her, then that's more than enough. And I think I can help you!" He added with a smirk, and Sehun narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

"You're not going to do something foolish, are you?"

"Yah, relax! I'm your hyung and you can trust me," he made his way out of the room, his smile growing wider once he saw the big fluffy white bichon laying on the carpet with his tongue hanging out. "If we're going to win her over, we'll need something cute to do it, and you have something cute."

︻デ═一 ♥

Haneul couldn't live in The Magic Shop's storage room after what happened the night before. After closing, Jungkook had taken her to his place, offering her the spare room, the fear of her getting hurt chipping away at his thoughts. He knew she wanted to find a way to get on her feet but he truly wanted her to stay with him as long as she pleased, but the girl proved to be very stubborn.

The door to the brownstone apartment was open, and Jungkook was in the kitchen making himself some iced tea while Haneul sat on the steps of the front porch, scrolling through her phone as she looked through listings for affordable apartments. So far, she could only find seedy one bedroom apartments in the poor part of Seoul where gang activity was prominent, or ridiculously expensive ones in Gangnam that only celebrities could afford.

"Dammit," she mumbled, putting her phone down for a moment and running her fingers through her hair.

Jungkook stepped outside, taking a seat beside her and sipping his iced tea. He noticed the defeated expression she harbored, his eyes filled with concern, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she answered, smiling half-heartedly. "I'm just trying to get out of your hair... I don't want to burden you..."

"You're like my little sister," he told her. "You can never burden me. In fact, I want you to stay. Live here for as long as you like. Plus, the apartment feels less lonely with you here..."

"Jungkook," she began, but she couldn't find the words to continue. After all the trauma she had faced, she felt she needed to face this on her own. She didn't want to drag her loved ones into her problems, even if it meant she had to distance herself from them. Maybe coming to Seoul was a mistake, she thought. I should have used the money I had to leave the country...

"You want a fresh start. I get it," he said as if he had read her thoughts. "but being alone won't give you that, Neullie." He stood again, looking down at her and giving her a smile. "Anyway, if you change your mind, that'll make me very happy. There's leftover iced tea so hurry inside if you want some." He made his way through the door, leaving her alone on the steps once more, and she made an affirmative sound, staring out toward the street and apartments that lined the other side of the pavement.

Chanyeol stood a few feet away, watching the young man retreat inside, and the girl picked up her phone again, going back to looking for more apartments. Vivi was on his leash, walking once the tall male made his way down the sidewalk, posting a flyer that he and Sehun had made onto one of the posts near the brownstone.

Once he was close enough, he was able to get a glimpse of the girl that his friend had begun to protect. Chanyeol had to admit, she looked very cute. She had a sweet look about her—one that must look beautiful when she smiled, her face round, framed by long silky hair, her eyes doe-like and colored chocolate. However, he noticed the sadness they harbored, the light that once graced them gone. Her lips appeared thinner and her cheeks lacked some color. She looked miserable, like the traumatic experiences she had encountered had begun to take a toll on her. She looked so small and afraid, ready to break, but the tight grip on her phone, the way she furrowed her brows, keeping herself from crying, made him realize she was trying to be strong.

That she was willing to hold herself together after everything she had been through.

Haneul's mind began to wander, her thumb no longer moving along the screen of her phone. She took into account Taehyung's words from yesterday, telling herself to run if she saw any illegal activities... and if that guy ever came back. "Sehun..." she mumbled his name absentmindedly before his blank face appeared again, his cold gaze piercing through that other man, his black hair falling along the sides of his face. She jolted in fear, dropping her phone onto the pavement, the screen now severely cracked. Her heartbeat was elevated, and she breathed heavily, growing slightly as she stared at the damaged screen. The hair on the back of her neck stood and she shuddered, her trembling hand reaching for her phone.

While she was distracted, Chanyeol deliberately let go of Vivi's leash, and the big white bichon came running toward her, his white tail wagging and his tongue out. He stood on his legs and pressing his pawns against her.

The brunette raised her brows, all thoughts of her phone long gone once he yipped sweetly, and that brought a small smile to her face. "Oh, hi!" She cooed, rubbing his fur.

Now was his chance. The tall male pretended to hold a frantic face, running toward the steps of the brownstone until he stood doubled over before the girl. He prayed this would work. "Vivi-ah!" He huffed, feigning relief before standing straight, looking down at the dog. "Sorry about him! I'm looking after my friend's dog while he does his work today. He seems to have taken a liking to you."

"It's fine," Haneul said once she looked up at the man. She giggled when she saw his floppy ears and dimples. His face was a nice change from what she saw yesterday. "He's adorable... they both are." She looked at the bichon.

I feel bad... but she bought into my lie. "Thank you," the male laughed, satisfied that she was at ease around Vivi. His plan was working, but he hoped that with this, she would be able to look into the apartment listing. Maybe she won't be so afraid when she began living with Sehun. He looked at her cracked phone, keeping up with their conversation and tilting his head. "How did that happen?"

"I just dropped it," she said while scratching Vivi behind the. "I was preoccupied and I may have scared myself... I was looking for an apartment to move into so I wouldn't be a bother to my friend."

"Is that so...?" He hummed, giving her a smile of encouragement. "I know you will. Don't lose hope. Who knows? The perfect apartment may be closer than you think." He grabbed the bichon's leash and tugged on it gently, "Vivi-ah, let's get going. It was nice meeting you, little miss."

"You too," she nodded once and darted her gaze back to Vivi, giving him a wave. "Have a good day, little Vivi!"

Vivi gave one last yip toward the girl before walking away.

From the other end of the block, at the corner of one of the buildings, Sehun watched as Chanyeol approached him, staring back at the girl for a moment. His face softened when she looked back at her phone, that fleeting smiling of hers gone. He was disappointed she stopped smiling but once she began living with him, he would make sure to protect that smile.

Chanyeol rounded the corner, his smile fading once he stood before the younger male, handing him Vivi's leash. "It's done... now, all that's left is for her to look at the flyer and go to your apartment."

"Good. I don't think it will be long as before she notices the listing for the apartment," Sehun knelt down to pet Vivi, a gentle smile on his face. "She'll be away from the crime and no one will think of finding her there." He turned back to the brownstone, and he found Ha-Neul's eyes on the flyer. She stood up from the steps, walking toward the electrical post and pulling off the tape gently. She read the listing carefully and her shoulders weren't so tense. It seemed she was considering looking into the apartment. This lie would have to continue, but Sehun hoped she would understand.

︻デ═一 ♥

Haneul was able to find the apartment in a clean part of the city. She was careful to traverse there, although she knew Jungkook would flip if he found out she went alone after everything she had been through. Even so, she had to do this on her own. She couldn't depend on her friends all the time.

She entered the building, looking around the lavish lobby, the reception desk void of any receptionist. The elevator doors were a shining silver and she walked toward them, her shoes clicking quietly against the immaculate floor. She stepped inside once the doors opened, riding the ascending shaft in silence until she came to a rather lavish hallway. What is...? She thought. The apartment building's interior wasn't at all what was described to be on the flyer. Maybe it's a scam, she continued down the carpeted floor, the lights dim and the walls colored brown with potted plants beside each door. Apartment 707.

She found the door to the apartment, which lay at the very end of the hallway. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer, prompting her to knock again. Once more, she didn't hear anyone on the other side. The brunette decided to grab the handle, and the door pushed upon, her eyes widening slightly. The moment she stepped inside, she was greeted with a clean apartment, a wide glass pane showcasing the city skyline. The large living room harbored leather couches, a coffee table and a TV hanging on the wall. The contemporary kitchen had white cabinets and an electric stove, and there was a water dish meant for a dog. There were two bedrooms in the hallway, and she deduced that someone was already living here.

Maybe it was a scam after all. She sighed and faced the door, ready to leave.

"I see you found my listing, but you're not going to inquire about it?"

Haneul froze in place, her body growing stiff and her grip on the doorknob growing tighter. She knew that voice.

It was him.

Sehun.

She should have known better. She should have suspected this wasn't real. Now she was about to be killed again and no one would know that she disappeared. She could feel her hands shaking, fear in her eyes, and she didn't dare turn to face him.

Sehun stepping from around the corner into the main room. He had changed out of his black suit into more casual clothes as to not intimidate her with his usually serious image--a white buttondown and black pants, his long hair slightly matted, the free strands falling along his forehead.

She was here. She stood right there, in front of him and he could feel a sense of respite in her presence. Now he could tell her why he truly wanted her here. Now he could protect her. Now he could apologize for lying to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to run away.

#sehun #oh sehun #exo sehun #sehun smut #exo #exo mafia au #eventual smut #Eventual romance #eventual fluff #eventual happy ending #sehun x oc #sehunxoc #romance #fluff #sehun fluff #fluff smut #kpop smut #sehunsmut #smut

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themaybewoman · 4 years

Text

Whumptober2020: Day 3 – Held At Gunpoint

Fandom: Psych (2006) Characters: Juliet O’Hara, Sam (from Psych: The Movie) Ships: Shawn/Juliet (Shules) Universe: Prologue to Please Stay (so far away) (singleparent!AU)

TW: CHARACTER DEATH, Blood, Gunshots

[Read on AO3 here.]

Pier 39 during the day was a bustling scene of families hoping to score some candy. During the night, the feeling it possessed was that of a ghost town, boarded up shops and darkened strings of bulbs. Tonight, the ghostly surroundings served as the grounds of pursuit between two of SFPD’s finest and an alleged jewellery thief (alleged only in the sense that they had little evidence to go off of). Personally, Juliet’s instincts grew sharper with each passing second on the pier; innocent men simply didn’t run like that.

Two sets of sneakers thundered over the wooden planks, and Juliet had to muse again over the man’s stupidity. Running deeper along the pier? Despite its near-maze-like standard of pathways, it was still a dead end. Looking at the cop in her periphery, she could tell Sam echoed her sentiments by his body language alone. After years on the San Francisco force together, they – like any competent partnership – learned how to read each other. It served for better execution on the job. Trust was nothing to take lightly, something Sam understood just as much as she.

“This pier doesn’t lead to any docked boats, right?” she huffed coarsely to the side, without taking her eyes off the path ahead.

“Think so?” he replied. “Why?”

Juliet spared a subtle glance at him, about to follow through with her reasoning, when it dawned on him.

“You think?” he said.

“If this guy’s smart enough to pull off elaborate heists, why would he run into a known dead end?”

“Getaway plan,” summarised Sam. He hefted his gun a couple degrees higher.

A figure on one of the spanning bridges caught her eye. She noticed it raise a shadowy arm, and with gut-based recognition yelled,

“Split!”

Sam dove one way, Juliet the other, and between them speeding from a crack of gunfire whizzed a bullet.

Forcing herself back to her feet, Juliet scrambled around the left of a shacked up store front. She was vaguely aware of her partner running around the other side as her path lifted into a ramp. With the only sources of illumination being each cop’s torch and the waning gibbous in the sky, Juliet summoned all her previous years of sensory intuition as she advanced to the shooter’s position.

“Freeze!” a gruff voice commanded.

“I think you stole my line,” Juliet smirked, training her gun and torch in the direction of the voice. She caught a crisp, white button-up haphazardly tucked into khakis before trailing the beam of light to the man’s face. “Drop your weapon.”

“Or what?” the man taunted, but his efforts were undercut by the severe squint he was making. “You know I have a gun.”

“You’re outnumbered,” Juliet pointed out.

But the thief replied wordlessly by lifting his gun and training it her direction.

“Judging by where your holding your flashlight,” he mused, “your heart should be right…” The gun’s barrel bobbed some before settling in line with her sternum. “There?” It wasn’t entirely accurate of an estimate, but considering all angles, the damage could very much be fatal. Juliet’s heart leapt against her will. If this night had been planned for, she would be safe within a bulletproof vest. Except, she had been out shopping. There were paper bags, stuffed with carbs and fibre and vitamin C, in the backseat of her Volkswagen to prove it. She hadn’t thought she’d need a vest tonight, not when she’d promised her daughter a bedtime story.

In her periphery flashed the light from Sam’s torch. There was no way she could call out to him, but he was already following a flight of stairs to their position. All she had to do was stall for another minute at most.

“Okay, you got me,” she played. “I do have just one question, though: why’d you run up here? It’s pretty much a dead end.”

“Wrong turn?” he supplied. Juliet could hear the shrug in his voice.

“A guy who can plan three jewellery heists in a few months and escape with little evidence doesn’t really seem like the type of person who’d stick themselves in a corner this easily,” she mused. “Does he?”

“You’re right,” the thief said, “that kind of man wouldn’t.”

In the span of three seconds, from the height of success to the pit of dismay, her heart fell. A set up, she groaned internally.

“Where?” she barked.

“Like I’d tell you,” the decoy huffed.

“Put the gun down.”

“Ladies first.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hey!” called Sam, several paces from the scene but at least now on the same level. “Do what my partner says.”

Juliet’s grip on her gun eased somewhat with the presence of back up. Together, like they always did, they’d take down this disobedient facade and get to work tracking down the real criminals.

“Cooperate and we can cut a deal,” she offered but with an authoritative air.

Sam planted himself a couple paces behind the man, gun trained on his turned back. The thief spared only a tilt of his head in acknowledgement of the second detective’s presence. For someone caught in the crossfire, he emoted minimal stress. His hands barely trembled, not even the one threatening Juliet’s life.

“It’s not a bad deal, man,” Sam pressed.

The corona of Juliet’s torch beam caught his raised brow, and while she couldn’t signal anything back in fear of the middle man catching on, she trusted that their minds were working around the same concept.

“Sorry,” the decoy said, and Juliet just caught his finger squeeze the trigger.

Two gun shots coalesced into an earsplitting bang. The man’s knees thudded against the bridge planks, and his torso teetered before collapsing in Juliet’s direction. She tried to jump back in avoidance of his head, but her legs would not respond. Blood swelled over the once-pure white of his shirt.

A sharp burning dragged her gaze further down until her eyes rested on her grey sweater. A tuned gasp ripped from her throat.

Normally, seeing blood wasn’t an issue. In addition to her experience in the field, part of her time at the academy was in first aid. Yet seeing a stain of red spread across the fabric of her favourite shirt – so much so soon – made her sway where she stood.

Sam was immediately at her side, gun and torch dropped, gripping her shoulders. She sank to her knees anyway, guided safety by her partner’s strength.

A hand hovering over the wound, she muttered, “I think I need medical attention.”

“You think?” replied Sam with his signature dryness. “Hang in there, J, I’ll call. Hang on.”

There was scuffling against wood to be heard and soon the beginnings of a winded conversation, but Juliet barely paid attention to what was being said into the phone. She flattened a palm against her gut while feeling around the space with her other hand. Letting out a grunt, she heaved herself properly onto the floor and settled into a semi-comfortable sitting position, her back against one of the railing’s posts.

Each breath she attempted felt like a steamboat weighing on her lungs. Shallower breaths hurt less, so she opted for more of those to split the difference.

A warm presence crouched by her right again. A beam of light passed up and down her body before concentrating on the bloody mess beneath her fingers.

“Dammit, Juliet, why couldn’t you have gotten shot somewhere like your leg?” snarked Sam, voice shaking in either humour, dread, or both.

“I’ll try harder next time,” she chuckled back only to wince at her core’s movement.

“Help’s five minute’s away,” he informed. “We just gotta keep pressure on the wound until then.”

Juliet coughed before she could respond. She ended up just nodding instead of answering.

“Hang in there.”

“You said that already,” she pointed out, her voice growing raspy.

“I think it still applies here.”

Managing a hum and a little smile, Juliet shifted her fingers over the bullet hole. The pain was excruciating, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to make any sound above a grunt.

“How’s it feel?”

“Like a vacation,” she lied, although her sarcasm didn’t land as well as it usually did. Her brain was growing woozier with each second.

“That bad, huh,” he said, and within seconds she gave him the stickiest glare she could manage. “I know, dumb question, right?”

“S’okay.” She lifted her hand from the wound to grab at… something, anything. She was slipping away from the floor with every blink.

Her mind flew across town. She jerked forward, panic inciting another round of adrenaline. “Shawn… I need– I have to–!” She let out a shriek; the skin around her bullet hole tore with the strain.

“Whoa, Juliet! Stay– I call him, too! Just sit, okay?!” With the help of gravity and Sam’s guiding hands, she slipped backwards against the post. Her hand was pushed back down to her midriff and secured. The grip was comforting, but it felt wrong in too many ways for her to enjoy its little solace. She wanted Shawn’s hand.

“I’m... tired?”

She could barely hear her own voice.

“J, seriously needing you to hang on, right now! They should be here anytime.”

All Juliet could do was shake her head, yet events she did so, the sensation felt a million miles away. Someone else was shaking their head. Someone else was bleeding out on Pier 39. Meanwhile, she was fine, she was safe, she was wrapped up in a green snuggie and nestled in the arms of her lover. The torchlight was growing fainter, but her next breath came a little easier. Good night, she thought with a little smile, knowing that in the morning, she’d wake up to cuddles and sunshine.

Wouldn’t that be nice.

—

Written for @whumptober2020.

#whump #whumptober2020 #juliet o'hara #psych #tw: blood #tw: guns #juliet's partner sam #psych: the movie #lilly's whump #fanfiction #writing #whumptober day 3 #held at gunpoint #lilly's writing #shules #tw: character death #tw: death

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Headcanon that Dick handles explosions BADLY, and Jason thinks this is about him and how he died, which is understandable given that Jason also handles explosions badly (if they’re not caused by him, ie ones that he’s unprepared for - which makes for a very unconventional argument in favor of being the one to introduce explosions into any particular situation and thus preemptively control that particular factor there, but then again, Jason’s an unconventional kinda guy and also I digress).

So one time there’s an explosion and both Dick and Jason are on edge in its aftermath, because of it, and so Jason snaps at Dick for being visibly rattled by it because he’s trying to distract from his own lingering uneasiness like he’s all Self, get it together Jay, its been years, you should be over it by now, even though he knows damn well trauma doesn’t work like that, its just that he WANTS it to because this is INCONVENIENCING HIM, dammit, and thus he is edgy and irritable and snaps at Dick like oh fucking suck it up, I’m sick of you getting all worked up every time there’s an explosion around us because you’re so bothered by what happened to me like, its not about you, and you being a jittery freakshow because you’re all like, oh no, lemme hijack my brother’s trauma and make it my thing is really annoying, so knock it off.

And Dick gets all quiet and pensive and is just staring at him for a long while, like he doesn’t quite know how he wants to respond to this, and so Jason doubles down and commits to staring back for as long as is necessary to win, because like, look that’s just how being siblings works and also he’s right. Except he’s not, because when Dick finally does speak, its to say with a kind of pinched, controlled attempt at keeping his voice emotionless so as not to betray any kind of anger but also hurt, and also, it doesn’t work....

So he’s just like, please don’t take this the wrong way, Jason, because I certainly don’t mean to take anything away from your own experiences or imply that I wouldn’t be affected by them just as a reminder of what happened to you, but the effect that massive, unexpected explosions have on me has nothing to do with that actually. It just triggers certain memories and emotions from the time my city was nuked by supervillains.

And then he walks away stiffly and Jason’s like aww, fuck, because the downside of not letting yourself be someone your brother feels comfortable unburdening himself to because you’re worried that means you might risk unburdening yourself to him too and that’s just unthinkable, is like, its very easy to stick your foot in your mouth when there’s a decade and a half’s worth of active superheroing in your brother’s life where he could have been the victim of or exposed to any number of ordeals, injuries or traumas and that you have no clue about, other than maybe two or three of them....and just because two heroes have shared traumas or triggers or overlap in some traumas or triggers, that doesn’t mean they stem from the same place or are equivalent or even trying to be, its literally just that they occupy similar spheres of existence/experience, but either way, its really just not a great idea to assume off the bat that any given other hero has no possible relationship with the very same experiences or traumas or triggers you struggle with yourself.

And I know people are gonna try and make this a competition thing or a gotcha moment against Jason stans or try and compare and contrast explosion based traumas but hashtag Literally Don’t Tho, because that’s honestly not the point and I do actually mean it when I say that shit is tired and boring, and they’re both allowed to be traumatized for different reasons and scale and scope are utterly irrelevant when we’re talking about two different brothers engaged in two different post traumatic stress reactions stemming from two different sources.

This absolutely literally is legit just a headcanon that’s not about blaming Jason or saying he’s a bad brother at all, this is just a possible glimpse of their dynamic at some point, based off a scene I was picturing for a fic I was writing at some point and never finished, wherein Dick’s triggered by an explosion to a degree that’s even worse that specific time than Jason’s reaction to unexpected explosions normally is on average. With the difference being that this explosion had a greenish tint to the flames and Dick just fucking freaks and throws himself at Jason to protect him, and gets hurt in the process and thus Jason freaks and gets pissed at Dick because he feels guilty Dick got hurt because of him and also is legit pissed because he thinks its cuz Dick was reckless out of some misguided attempt to protect him from something that already happened to Jason, and thus is stupid.

But in reality, the reason for this particularly extreme reaction from Dick to this particular explosion is that the greenish tint triggered a highly specific and intense recall to the memories and emotions Dick had surrounding Chemo’s bombing of Bludhaven, since Chemo’s radiation powers gave that explosion a greenish tint too. And thus Dick’s reaction here also included channeling his overwhelming impulses of that time, in which he literally ran back into the radioactive fallout zone without any of the appropriate gear, because he was so lost in the headspace of ‘all these people dying is all my fault because the villains were targeting me specifically’ that this overrides all conscious cares for self-preservation, as well as awareness of his brother’s own competence and skills.

And thus also this post is about how fucking obnoxious it is that anything that includes both Dick and Jason having trauma reactions in the same scenario usually devolves into compare and contrast or better yet, Who Wore It Best, because that shit absolutely makes it all but impossible to explore entire facets of this fucked up family’s interpersonal relationships and dynamics, when its always treated as being about blaming one person or another for hurting another’s feelings or trying to rank the most hurt in any given scene, and sometimes its really just as simple as character x kinda stuck his foot in his mouth and made things tense and uncomfortable between him and character y for a little while and that’s all it needs to be, not an invitation to The Roast of Character X, Let’s Expose Him For Being A Horrible Person, instead of just them both being brothers who occasionally set off emotional landmines around each other due to no great flaw of their own but rather just due to the fact that their lives mean they inevitably both exist at all times as islands adrift in a sea of potential emotional landmines.

This post was brought to you by the letters ADHD and also fuck you punctuation, what’s so great about you anyway.

#like I can not ever stress enough how much my insistent harping on the double standards in fandom is literally just that #about the DOUBLE STANDARDS #not about trying to point to Dick as the most traumatized or most anything or best anything #merely attempting to point out the imbalanced perception of him compared to his brothers #in order to eliminate that imbalance from the equation #and put them on equivalent narrative footing #that's IT #please do not use my meta to attempt to leapfrog Dick into First Place Gold Medal Winner of Trauma Olympics #I reiterate: I hate Trauma Olympics whether my faves are winning or losing #because nobody really wins that shit and its counterproductive and I don't want to play #and also like you can do what you want with my meta obviously #Im just saying like for this particular usage of it #I'm not actually on board with that #just FYI

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peggysousfan · 4 years

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Agent Carter An Au Series

Here’s chapter 2! Chapter 3 should be up tommorrow or Thursday. This chapter will be from Daniels POV. Enjoy :)

Peggy's POV:

Walking up a flight of stairs normally isn't a problem, but being eight months pregnant makes it quite difficult. Now, instead of actually walking, I seem to be waddling like a bloody penguin. Why can't we have a lift in this building? Finally I reach our apartment floor, when I hear a crash.

"Dammit," I hear someone say. I look down the hall and see our neighbor and it looks as if hes dropped a grocery bag. Oh I forgot his name. Sonna? Soasa? All I know is it begins with an 'S'. I walk, or waddle, down the hall to see if I could help. "Mrs. Carter?" he says. Oh bloody hell!

"It looks like you could some help with that," I say.

"Oh no its fine." He uses his crutch and bends down for it. He's lived in this complex longer than I have. I've seen him around and we've had small conversations at the post, but nothing more than neighborly civil conversation. "Sorry about that."

"There's nothing to be sorry for Mr...uhm"

"Sousa. Daniel Sousa." he says. He reaches out his hand and I shake it.

"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Sousa, you must forgive me."

"There nothing to forgive Mrs. Carter,"He flashes a charming smile and I attempt to relay one myself. If only people would stop addressing me as Mrs. Carter...

"Well I ought to be on my way," I say.

"Of course. Have a nice day." He says, smiling once more. I smile and return to my flat.

Colleen's been working much more as of late. Since the war has been over, many more GI's have been discharged, and many woman have lost there jobs to soldiers. Colleen has to help train the new recruits, leaving me quite on my own. Hours go by and its soon supper time. I'm no chef, but I normally make do. We haven't made it to the shops like we intended, so our food supply is quite low. However, I could smell something quite delicious itself waffling through the air. Mmmm. Whatever it is has triggered a craving. Damn. It seems that the food is from Mr. Sousa's flat. I can't help but pace and think of whatever hes made. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm at his door knocking, with a plate in my hand. What in the blazes was I doing!? I start to walk back when I hear the door open.

"Mrs. Carter?" I stood there frozen for a moment. Sighing I turn around.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Sousa, I was just being silly." I say awkwardly. Never have I embarrassed myself like this in my life. He looks at me with a furrowed brow and a puzzled look on his face.

"Uh.. did you need something?"

"No.. I uhm.." I stammer on and try to explain, rather horribly, what I was doing. "Well...no. I uhm... I'm sorry to bother you."

"You sure..?" he asks again. He smiles charmingly and has a small tease to his tone. Damn him. I try to smile it off, but it doesn't work.

"Its just.. well whatever you've made smells delightful.."

"You want some of my food?" Rather than being rude and sounding appalled, he actually sounded surprised, yet kind; if anything he was slightly amused.

"I hate to be a bother..." I trail off. He looks down and smiles, as if a sweet thought had crossed his mind.

"I don't mind at all. If anything it would be a big help." he laughs.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose-"

"Its cod... It doesn't exactly taste great reheated and eaten the next day." he teases. I laugh and whole heatedly smile.

"I concur." I say.

"Here, how about this. You come inside while its finishing up and you can have half." I stop for a moment, not wanting to over step, but the babe has other plans. I close my eyes and give in. This little one is so head-strong already...

"That sounds lovely."

"Great." He opens the door and we make our way to the kitchen. I can't help but moan at the delicious smell. Daniel looks at me and laughs.

"What?"

"Nothin'."His back is turned towards me, but I can sense his amused demeanor.

"There must be something thats keeping you amused." I press. I want to keep a small conversation going to avert this awkward situation. Although being here seems warm and welcoming, not invading.

"Its just.. my sisters are the same way." I furrow my brows as he turns to me. "When they were.. uh.. you know."

"With child..?"

"Uhh, yeah. They'd sit or stand around and enjoy the smell of the food in the air. " I can't help but listen to his every word. He must sense I was hoping for more details, so he pressed on. "They always made me cook or them, especially when they had cravings." He laughs lightly as the memories play in his mind. "I remember my older sister, she would call me at 3 in the morning, because her husband had night shifts, and she would call me and ask to get her whatever she wanted. Sometimes I'd have to bake or cook depending what it was. She'd sit down and just smell the air and pester me when it'd be done." His laugh is so contagious, I can't help myself.

"Well, it seems you are a very good brother," I say. "I don't think my own would be so loyal and keen to meet my every need and craving if I asked." I laugh. The timer goes off and Daniel takes out the cod. It looks different than most I've seen.

"Its a Portuguese dish, I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, of course not. I've never had Portuguese before, I must admit, but it smells delicious." He laughs and grabs his own plate.

"So, wheres your brother now? I-If you don't mind me asking that is.."I look down for a moment and then up.

"Oh no its fine. My brother, Micheal.. He uhm.. died early in the war." I try to keep my emotions in check, but a tear escaped without my permission. Quickly I wipe it away. Damn pregnancy hormones..

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring something like that up, I-

"Its alright, Mr. Sousa, I pray you don't reproach yourself. " I look up at him and see his demeanor change. "Honestly it's alright. I enjoy talking about him actually."

"Yeah? What was he like?" As Daniel began to serve our food, I rambled on and on of stories about Micheal and what he was like. In turn, Daniel told stories of his own sisters, and about a brother he had lost in the war. I've barely uttered more then a few sentences to this man in the many months of living in Brooklyn, but now, sitting here with him, I feel as if I've known him my whole life. Everything feels right and calm, and I have an odd feeling of wanting to never leave. All too soon though, we both finish and I hobble out of my seat. I grab both of our plates and place them in the sink.

"Uhh ...You don't have to do that you know. I can take care of it." Daniel makes his way to where I am, but I refuse his help.

"No, no, I all but invited myself over, its the least I can do." He must sense my determination, because he doesn't try and argue. Several minutes go by and I'm nearly finished, when a pain in my lower abdomen begins to start. At first its small, then It grows more intense. I can't help but hunch over, one hand on the counter, the other on my back. He must have sense my distress because he rushes over to my side.

"Ar-Are you okay?... Sh-sould I do something? Is it the baby? Do I need to call a-"

"No, no, Its not that." I force my self to say. "It must be false contractions. Normally they go away, but.. they seem to be more insistent at the moment." He stares, awe-struck, frozen. "I should probably head home, sleep it off..."

"Uh yeah sure, do you need anything?"

"No i'm quite fine. Thank you, Mr. Sousa." I start to walk across the hall when I hear him reply.

"Yeah, No problem." I look back and attempt to smile. Oh this child will be the death of me, the sooner they get here, the better. I grab the bed off of the wall and lie down. Soon enough, the contractions end. I hope Daniel won't be offended by my sudden leaving, I feel horrible, but poppet had other plans...

#peggysous #peggy carter #daniel sousa #Peggy x Daniel #agent carter #agent carter series #au fanfic #fanfiction

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kyouryokusenshi · 5 years

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Can you write a sequel to your story where they are having sex late into the post MSIV pregnancy? Scully's close to term but still desperate for Mulder?

Prompt fill for #40 for @xfpornbattle, pregnancy sex from behind and for the Tumblr anons who wanted late pregnancy sex.

Title: Bad Touch

Rating: NSFW

A/N: Thanks to @monikafilefan for the beta!!

Tagging a few others for some love: @danceswithcybermen @gaycrouton @baronessblixen @babygirlmulder1018 @frangipanidownunder @o6666666 @how-i-met-your-mulder @scully-eats-sushi @amorfati3215

Scully was due in just under a week, October 12th to be exact. She knew Mulder was hoping the baby would share his birthday. “It would be the best birthday I have ever had,” was exactly what he had said.

Though the pregnancy had been uneventful for the most part, she wasn’t 37 anymore and she had been feeling every bit of 54 lately. She had been resting as much as possible these past few days, but it didn’t stop her from feeling painfully frisky.

Scully mustered all her strength to shift into a sitting position on their bed and absently smoothed her hand over her distended abdomen. As much as she enjoyed being pregnant, she was ready to meet their daughter.

Mulder’s Pandora playlist was playing his favorite songs through their Google Home device. They enjoyed some of the newest technology, though not quite to the same extent as they did with Scully’s smart home.

Scully looked up from the bed as Mulder emerged in the doorway, carrying a breakfast tray.

“Nothing fills up a woman’s tummy like some eggs and sausage, Scully.”

A smile tugged at Scully’s lips as she regarded him with a sly grin.

“Precisely,” she said, resting her hand on her belly for emphasis.

Once Scully was finished with her breakfast, Mulder diligently took the tray downstairs to the kitchen.

When he returned, she was pouting. “As much as I enjoyed the room service, I’m still waiting for the main course,” she said as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and licked her lips.

Mulder pretended to be shocked. “Oooh. My bad, Ms. Scully. I should make it up to you.”

Scully suddenly pulled back the comforter of the bed, revealing nothing but her birthday suit. She must have stripped when he left the room, he surmised. Her hormones had been raging lately and he enjoyed every minute of it. Though he knew they were trying to help stimulate labor.

Mulder shed his PJs, revealing the fact that he wasn’t wearing underwear before jumping into bed next to Scully. Scully cuddled closer to Mulder beneath the covers as they listened to the lyrics of “California Sun” fill the room.

Mulder smiled as he stared into Scully’s blue depths, tucking her hair gently behind her ear before his hand moved lower beneath the covers. His hand lovingly stroked the expanse of her belly between them.

Scully closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m going to miss this. I’m grateful to experience this again with you, but I’m so ready to have my body back,” she said as they both laughed.

Mulder moved his hand up from her belly to cup one of her breasts. It was heavy and full to his touch, ready to suckle their child. “I can help with that,” he murmured with a sultry glint in his eyes.

Scully opened her eyes and smiled as she felt his length pressing up against her belly.“Good. I was hoping you’d say that” she said as she moved upright. As she struggled, Mulder moved to help her into a sitting position.

To his surprise, she crawled forward and clumsily wiggled her ass in his face. “I want you to take me from behind,” Mulder. “Hard.”

Lately, Scully had almost always been on top. She preferred it and he didn’t mind. A grin played at his lips as he sat up and moved forward towards her lower end, his length brushing against her legs as he got into position.

While she was on her hands and knees towards the front end of the mattress, he was grateful they upgraded to a King size bed after their most recent trip to IKEA. They didn’t really need the extra room, but it gave them more…possibilities.

His hand brushed against her clit, revealing her readiness for him. Fuck.

Mulder perched himself behind her and taking his length, he teased the moistened folds with the tip of his cock. He looked over as she moaned, braced on her knees and elbows, the weight of her belly hanging unceremoniously.

“Hurry up and fuck me, Mulder!” she demanded.

In the background, Mulder smiled as Bad Touch started to play from his music playlist. He placed his hands on Scully’s hips.

Ha ha, well now!We call this the act of matingBut there are several other very important differencesBetween human beings and animals that you should know about

“Seriously, Mulder…hey Go–”

Mulder was vaguely aware of Scully shaking her head in amusement before she yelped in surprise as he pushed into her slick folds.

“Ooh!”

“As much as I’d like to defend my choice in music right now Scully, it’s perfectly appropriate for the moment,” he breathed, hands gripping her hips as he slowly began to pump in and out.

Sweat, baby, sweat, baby sex is a Texas drought meAnd you do the kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about

Mulder moved forward while doing his best to keep position and moved his hands slowly up the curve of her belly to grasp her breasts as he continued to pump, feeling the buds hardening against his touch.

Their skin grew slick as Mulder pressed himself against her.

“Harder,” Scully breathed. “Faster,” she begged as her weight made her muscles grow tired.

You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mammalsSo let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel(Do it again now)You and me baby ain’t nothin’ but mammalsSo let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel(Gettin’ horny now)

Mulder pulled back into position, placing his hands back on her hips and pushed into her, hard, watching as her body gyrated back and forth in the motion.

As Scully struggled to stay upright, Mulder moved forward, once again covering her small form and held the weight of her belly in his hands, gently pulling it upward to relieve her of the weight.

Scully sighed at the temporary relief as she felt her release building.

You sunk my battle ship please turn me on,I’m Mr. Coffee with an automatic dripSo show me yours I’ll show you mine “Tool Time”You’ll love it just like LyleAnd then we’ll do it doggie styleSo we can both watch X-Files

“Dammit….Mulder,” she breathed as he pushed inside of her. “Faster!”

Mulder pulled back again and closed his eyes as he felt his own release building. “Uhhh, God Scully…fuck,” he rasped, picking up the pace once again. The bed squealed loudly with every thrust and Scully gripped the sheets, jolting forward.

“Ooooh,” Scully gasped as she felt her sudden release clamor around him. She breathed heavily as her aching muscles tremored. At the same time, she felt a tingling sensation in her breasts.

“Scullllyy!”

A moment later she felt Mulder come to a grinding halt as he came inside of her, triggering the release of colostrum from her breasts.

“Oh God…” Scully panted.

As the song ended, Mulder moved to help Scully lay back into him. As he did, he noticed the creamy golden substance leaking from both her breasts that she had described to him before as colostrum, which she explained was perfectly common during orgasm as the pregnancy progressed.

Mulder surprised her by moving to lick the wetness from her chest. Scully stiffened as his tongue lapped the honeyed substance from her skin before he rested his forehead against hers. Scully had been anxious that this would happen during their lovemaking sessions and was afraid that it might turn Mulder off. Thankfully, it was just another one of those things that turned out not to be a problem.

They both closed their eyes and sighed, allowing their breathing to return to normal before Mulder moved back towards the headboard and helped Scully to sit between his legs.

Scully sighed as she rested her weight against Mulder’s chest, feeling the stickiness of their clammy skin from their lovemaking session. Mulder’s hands wrapped around her and came to rest on her abdomen, feeling their baby awake and kicking from within.

“You never fail to surprise me, Mulder. Whether it’s buying a fully loaded Mustang, Mulder…or liking a lewd song from the Bloodhound Gang.”

Mulder chuckled as he pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling its honeysuckle scent before kissing her head.

“That’s a classic,” he whispered. “You even knew the artist, Doctor Google,” he teased.

Scully closed her eyes and settled against him. “Shut up, Mulder.”

A/N: I just had to incorporate the Bad Touch song…I can see Mulder listening to it. LOL

END

#the x files #smile #mulder and scully #msiv #pregnancysex

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shadowofthelamp · 5 years

Text

Two AM

Another kofi commission! Some post-canon heartshipping (can be taken as platonic or romantic) with video games and bad cartoony ice creams. This was commissioned by @temporallyanduin. Feedback is super appreciated, in replies, comments, or tags!

AO3 Link

Wordcount: 1480

Warnings: None

Yugi was asleep. It was 3:45 am, a time one normally would be asleep at. But his phone started blasting out his ringtone from its spot upon his bedside table, and he fumbled for it, jamming the home button a few times before remembering how to actually answer the call.

“ ‘ello?” He mumbled, only to hear static followed by a muffled shriek. That helped wake him up. “Who is this?” He stumbled out of bed, checking the caller ID- he saw it was from Ryou moments before the call ended.

Yugi shoved his duel monsters deck in his pocket immediately hurried downstairs- his sweatpants would be good enough, and he tossed on a jacket and coat before running outside to the subway. It was light on foot traffic at this hour and he fired off a few worried texts.

[ru ok?]

[this a magic thing? i grabbed my deck in case]

The colors of the subway car seemed washed out and too bright at the same time, and Yugi practically sprinted out as soon as he hit the right stop, running until he reached Ryou’s apartment. He hit the doorbell and was buzzed in, and took a deep breath, bracing himself before opening the door-

-To see Ryou on the computer with headphones on his head, playing some game with creepy lighting where he was flicking though screens in a grimy-looking office.

“Ryou?”

Ryou jumped, before whirling around. He tugged his headphones down to his neck. “Yugi? What are you doing here?”

“You called, and then there was a scream and you wouldn’t answer my calls-”

“I did?” Ryou glanced over at his desk. “Where is- oh.” He reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I must have called you on accident, I’m just playing a game and I’ve been dying a lot. You probably just heard one of those times.”

“So- you’re fine?”

Ryou smiled. “Yes, I’m- dammit!” Something must have roared in the headphones, because he flinched. “I was so close that time…”

Yugi’s heart was still going about a mile a minute, but his breathing was starting to settle. “What.... what game was it?”

“It’s about a haunted pizza place. The animatronics try to kill you, and you just have to survive your shift. I’m on night four and it’s really tripping me up.”

“Can I watch? I kind of ran here, and-”

“Of course- as long as I’m dead, I’ll make us some tea. I probably needed a break anyways.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning?” Yugi asked, and Ryou shrugged.

“If I do the shelving at the gift shop with bags under my eyes, it’s not like they’re going to buy any less.” He paused. “Want to stay for the night?”

Yugi opened his mouth to decline, but then realized it would be a lot nicer to just wait here than heading back home right away after that panicked sprint. He had an afternoon shift at the shop today, not a morning one. “Alright.”

“The couch is pretty comfy.” Ryou said, heading over to the kitchen and pulling out a few teabags. “Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar.” Yugi said, glancing at the screen. It showed a bunch of empty mascot suits, like the ones at Kaibaland. “You said it was a horror game?”

“Yeah, it has a bunch of jumpscares but it’s the tension that gets you.” Ryou said, setting down a kettle of water to boil.

“Huh.” Yugi pulled out his deck and shuffled it just for something to do with his hands, and Ryou noticed.

“You brought your-?” Suddenly, a grin slid across his face. “You thought I was in trouble and you brought your deck?”

“Hey, it’s saved our lives more than once!”

“I’m not complaining, it’s just… man, our lives are wild, huh?” Ryou leaned against the counter. “I was sent to another dimension and you playing a card game saved me.”

Yugi smiled. “It does sound kind of weird when you put it like that.”

“Want to play a round while we wait for the tea?”

Yugi yawned. “As long as we’re here…”

Ryou pulled his deck out from his desk, then plopped down on the floor. “I’ll go first. I set a card facedown and summon Headless Knight in defense position…”

_________

Maybe it was because Ryou’s adrenaline was still running high from the game, maybe it was because Yugi was just tired, or both, but Ryou managed to beat him by the time the tea was ready. Dark Necrofear had taken control of his Summoned Skull and used it to finish him off.

“Nice one.” Yugi said as he scribbled down -600 points as it destroyed his Armored Dragon. “I probably should head to bed-”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to watch me play?” Ryou said as he put his deck back together.

Yugi raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “You’re a bad influence.” He joked, but grabbed a chair from the kitchen to set it next to the computer.

Ryou unplugged his headphones so Yugi could hear too. The rapidfire clicking and moving around almost made him dizzy, but he could see why Ryou was getting frustrated- most of the time, he almost made it almost to the end, but then something killed him or he ran out of power.

Ryou’s commentary was more colorful than he’d expected, and Yugi realized this was the first time they’d really been alone together, especially since school had ended. Ryou’s pale skin looked almost ghostly in the game’s washed-out light, and seeing him so focused was almost like seeing a whole new person.

He ended up falling asleep on the chair and woke up with a blanket on.

_______

After that, Yugi took time to visit Ryou about once a week. Usually after work, as their sleepovers were starting to become more commonplace. Ryou had showed him the game, and Yugi found out that while he had a knack for games like chess or duel monsters, video games that required lightning-fast hair-trigger reflexes took more getting used to.

Yugi also came over to drag Ryou outside- when he wasn’t at work or doing errands, he tended to coop himself up in his apartment. Really, it was a wonder he’d survived living on his own for so long.

“Holy crap.” Ryou had been pulled out of his apartment earlier by Yugi for lunch together, but now it was his turn to drag Yugi towards the ice cream truck.

“What?”

“Look at the new flavor!” Ryou was holding back a laugh as he pointed, and Yugi’s eyes widened.

“Me?” It was his face, right there with gumballs for eyes.

“I’m getting it.” Ryou pulled out his wallet, rifling through for a few yen bills and handing them over. “One duelist pop, please.”

“Certainly- oh!” The man running the truck stared when Yugi met his eyes. “Ah… hello!”

Yugi thought for a moment, and the man simmered in his own sweat before he said “I’ll have one of those too.”

A few minutes later, they were sitting by a park fountain as they unwrapped their treats together.

Yugi stared- one of the eyes was down by the mouth, and the colors all melted into each other.

“Tough luck.” Ryou said. “I’m glad I’m not famous enough to have my image mutilated like this.” He took a bite out of Yugi’s hair. “Huh, you taste like raspberry.”

“I would have thought I’d be more of a cherry man.” Yugi said, taking a bite himself. “Oh, you’re right, I do.”

“What flavor you think they’d make me?” Ryou wondered.

“Boo-berry.” Yugi grinned, booping Ryou’s nose with his ice cream and leaving a little red stain on it.

Ryou started laughing, trying to lick at the bit of ice cream, but his tongue couldn’t make it all the way, so he just gave up and booped Yugi right back with his melted likeness. Yugi wiped at his nose with his thumb, then licked it off there.

“Coward.” Ryou said. “You didn’t even try to get it.”

“I don’t think my tongue somehow grew that much while I wasn’t looking.” Yugi said, taking another bite of the ice cream. “Besides, I’m not sure you aren’t just sleep deprived.”

“I still haven’t worked all the way through my game library yet!” Ryou protested.

“You also haven’t gotten back the money’s worth on your mattress either.” Yugi said. “I’ll stay over tonight, and if I bring dinner, do you promise to go to bed by two?”

“Are you going to just get Burger World?”

“...Answer the question.”

“Counter idea. You bring dinner, we both play, and then I’ll go to bed at two. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They didn’t end up getting to bed until 3:15, but they were so tired they ended up just falling asleep on the couch together, and Yugi counted it as a victory.

#heartshipping #ryou bakura #yugi mutou #yugi muto #yugioh #shadow writes stuff #temporallyanduin #kofi commission

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burlybanner · 5 years

Text

Syzygy - An AU of Infundo (post-Infundo Chronicles).

Chapter 8: Me and My Shadow

Summary: What does real fear taste like? Link to Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Author Note - Trigger warning: DiD-type cycling and past child abuse/trauma. Please feel free to contact me if anything does not sound right? I want to be sensitive. It’s very much a unique situation because well...we’re talking about Bruce Banner, let’s be honest. But I’d like to get this as “right” as possible (or at least not jarringly wrong).

"My God..." Bruce ran a shaky hand across the recording. The recorded 'him' paused, apparently giving Bruce time to absorb and understand.

"You recorded yourself?"

He jumped at the sound near his ear. Steve had effectively swaddled him, but he wasn't feeling his body heat for whatever reason. And he really, really wanted to. "No, I...I don't remember ever--Steve, it..it's not me. I mean, I don't remember this." He gulped. He couldn't take his eyes off his doppelganger, but his twin didn't seem phased. He rocked in his chair, examined his nails, played with the keyboard. All things Bruce might have done, except--

"Jarvis, what's the timestamp on this recording?"

"04:32 AM, early this morning."

"After Tony put me to bed?"

"Yes. And not more than seven minutes after he left for his flight to Korea."

Steve had been strangely quiet and kept checking between Bruce and Bruce's twin. Bruce could've said more to reassure him but even he wasn't sure what he even could say at this point.

He frowned and ran a shaky hand beneath his chin. "I must've been sleepwalking."

"You weren't sleepwalking, Banner," the not-Bruce said, and a colder chill traveled down Bruce's back.

"What's going on, Bruce?" He felt Steve's hand clutch his shoulder and Bruce unconsciously leaned into it. "If this isn't you, who is it?"

"I-I don't have a clue..."

The not-Bruce cleared his throat. "The fright of viewing 'yourself' at this point should be wearing off. You must be insanely curious." He smiled faintly. "It's a shocking revelation, yes, but it shouldn't be a huge surprise. You've known, Bruce. You've refused to acknowledge me as truth, but you've known."

"Oh, Christ," Bruce whispered. He began shaking and Steve's presence tightened around him. Steve, fortunately, chose to listen and not speak, but Bruce had no idea what to say either. His mind began melting and swirling at the possibility, the implication--

"Shh, shhhh, don't drown in the madness, Banner," the not-Bruce murmured. "It's not difficult. Remember our favorite quote from our childhood: 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' "

"Pause, Jarvis!" Bruce suddenly shot up from his chair, knocking Steve back.

"Whoa--"

"Sorry, I'm...I'm sorry. Steve, give me a..."

Bruce helped Steve to his feet, but he shook hard enough to feel like he was flying apart, and Steve immediately wrapped him in his arms. "Bruce, babe, it's okay. I'm not hurt. Don't worry about it--"

"No..no. It's not fine. It's..." Bruce began wringing his hands, and he wasn't listening. His ears weren't producing...sound. He couldn't feel. Or see. He slammed his eyes shut and pulled from Steve, stumbling about while prodding That Place in his mind. Cautiously he prodded that Space, mentally feeling for for the Gate to Hulk's presence, but where? Was it...wait. No, not a Gate at all. Had it ever been a Gate? It was--

Hello, Banner.

Bruce's eyes flew open and his legs crumbled.

"Bruce--!"

Steve was right behind him, rubbing his back, telling him to take deep breaths but he couldn't hear him, he felt him. It took time, but really, what was time? An idea, a construct. Beats of measurement on a musical scale...he stuffed down a nervous giggle threatening to bubble from his chest.

He'd have to explain it when he didn't fully understand.

Stop lying, you know full well who I am. Good god, Banner, you're almost as dramatic as Tony.

He shook again but what...was true? What was happening now--? No...no. He had knowledge, and knowledge was truth and power.

Are you sure?

"S-stop speaking," he said out loud, and he felt Steve's hand still across his back. "No, I meant...dammit."

He breathed deep, meditative breaths that he'd normally do during his asanas. Feeling returned to his body. His fleeting senses returned. Sight. Taste. Smell. Sound. "Steve," he began, when it felt safe enough. "You need...to know something. I hate explaining it and I don't like it...but. It makes sense now. Of course it makes sense."

"To you, maybe."

Bruce did laugh, too nervously, but he cautiously took Steve's hand. "Hold me, okay?" He whispered. "Hold me tight and be patient. This is going to be a lot to take in, and it's a lot for me to discuss." The light bulb went on and he shuddered against Steve's chest. "Ahh. I get it. That's why Tony...yes. Now I get why he left."

"But I don't!"

Bruce chuckled nervously and drew Steve's arms around his shoulder. "It's story time, Steve."

At age three, the abuse began because Brian Banner was a Tier One asshole and stole Bruce's life. Well, that's not fair. The circumstance created a second life, and Bruce added it. Three lives now, if he believed the current scenario. He'd never really openly spoke about the other parts but now was the time. He'd have no second chances.

"It wasn't...it wasn't entirely physical abuse," Bruce whispered. Steve's lashes were moist and Bruce could feel his boyfriend's heart beating. It was solid, steady, and strong. Beating like a kettle drum. "I don't talk about it, because..." Bruce sighed. His hands felt cold, but he could do this. He had to. "I didn't tell Mom. I wish I had. We might've left earlier if she--"

"I'm here, I'm not going away," Steve reiterated. He could feel Steve's lips scrape through his curls, feel his warm cheek transferring its warmth. "I love you, regardless. That won't ever stop. No matter what."

"Brian..." and Bruce shuddered at the memory. "Brian was fond of using 'tools' to see how I reacted. To test my 'humanity.' I was. Fuck, Steve. I wasn't even five and some days I couldn't sit because of what he...did. It was easier to disappear into myself. Someone Else could take what I couldn't."

Steve's hand stopped its administrations and Bruce closed his eyes. He knew it was all part of his abusive past but he couldn't help feeling Steve was disappointed in him. His head knew it wasn't true, but his heart...

"I'm sorry," Steve murmured. Bruce realized his scalp felt wet. At first he wasn't sure, but the small hitch and shuddered breath from Steve proved it. "I'm so, so sorry, Bruce."

Bruce squeezed Steve's arm. "It's okay," he said, but it still wasn't. After all these years it wasn't. Would never be okay.

It was why he would never be whole. Or complete. Just separately hurting pieces trying their hardest to exist.

Now you just sound pathetic, Banner. I can Front, if you're unwilling.

Quiet. You're not the Core. I am.

His response surprised them both, and the...Professor (yes, that Name felt right; he could "hear" Professor's confirmation of his name despite his lack of sibilants) slinking back to the quieter sections of his head.

We are...us. I get it. But from now on, no more hiding from me. We have to team up.

He felt something new churn in his mind, earthy and feather light. Like a gentle breeze with hints of petrichor. He could name it now. And naming was Power.

So be it, Professor acknowledged.

We have a lot of work to do and damages to reverse. So follow my lead.

Bruce tapped Steve's arm. "C'mon," he whispered. "I'll be okay. It's something that happened to me. It's horrible. It makes me sick to my stomach. And," he sighed, "it split my psyche. I think in threes, I guess." He tapped his head. "Three people have my address, if that makes sense."

Steve kissed his head. "Not really...but I love you. More than ever, maybe. You're the strongest man I know, Bruce Banner. Not because of the Hulk. Despite Hulk."

"Hmm," Bruce sighed. He settled into Steve's arms and explained the curiousness of DID and how it worked for him, and how he functioned in the System as the Core. But the other part of him - Professor, probably - had begun scheming behind the scenes.

"So this...DID?" Steve was still a bit snuffly but Bruce gently squeezed his arm. He loved seeing Steve's gentle side, even if it was at his own expense. "I'm not sure I follow. How does this explain Tony leaving?"

Bruce's smile curled the edges of his lips but the sadness was there. "I...may have scared him. Or rather my 'Person' did." He air-quoted so Steve could understand the context.

"You think so?"

Bruce licked his lips. "You saw how I reacted, right? Imagine if you were in Tony's shoes, seeing this guy for the first time. When I didn't even know he was there."

Steve got quiet, and Bruce lumbered to his feet. "Speaking of...we need to finish the video." He searched in his mind for Professor, but only felt an uncertain tickle there.

Care to share with the class, Professor?

Nothing.

Probably wants me to see his damage. Bruce was angry, but not surprised. He drew in his brows and held out his hand to Steve. "I’m not sure what to expect next, but I'd appreciate your support."

"You know you have it. You've always had it, Muffin." Steve grabbed his hand and Bruce yanked him to his feet. "You have any suspicions?"

Shaking his head, Bruce slowly approached the video screen. Professor was in stasis, staring at his hands as if he knew what would happen next. This was a chess master, Bruce realized, in for the long haul. Maybe Professor was as neutral as he said but he was damn good at pulling strings Bruce didn't know about. And that made this Person particularly dangerous.

"All right, Jarvis," Bruce sighed. He remained standing while Steve came behind him and cuddled him close. He almost felt smothered in Steve's strong arms but he needed it. He needed to feel warm. Feel real.

Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

"Go ahead. Start it up again. Let's see what he has to say for himself."

#polyamory #chubby bruce fic #infundoau #chubby bruce banner #steve rogers #tony stark #bruce banner #american pi #science bros #hulk #stark spangled banner #bhm #chubby kink #syzygy #starkspangledbanner syzygy #professor hulk

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